Good girls go to heaven
by Nadin4400
Summary: …but bad girls go everywhere. AU. Post-S3, pre-S4. Dean was saved by someone who he least expected to help, but just being back is never enough. Full summary inside. Dean/Bela, Sam, Bobby. Drama, angst. T for language/content. UPDATE 12/22/08. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Good girls go to heaven, but bad girls go everywhere

**Summary**: No one can come back from hell. Normally. But there are always exceptions to the rules, and everyone deserves to have a second chance. One month passed since Dean died. Sam and Bobby tried everything to bring him back and failed. But then someone appeared in their lives. Someone who was not supposed to be there. Someone who could be their last hope to save Dean.

**Spoilers**: Season 3. The story takes place post-Season 3, but pre-Season 4, so - NO Season 4 spoilers

**Characters:** Dean, Sam, Bela, Bobby.

**Pairings**: Dean/Bela

**Disclaimer**: One for all story! Do not own anything except for crazy twists and turns of my imagination.

**Author's Note**: I had the idea for this story long before I started "Something to remember", maybe right after I watched "Time is one my side" but it sort of needed some serious thinking, or something like that. It's not a song-fic, but it was inspired by a very old song performed by Pandora's Box "Good girls go to heaven (Bad girls go everywhere)". Truth be told, I tend to use this phrase as motto from time to time, because seriously, being good is so boring and so… predictable.

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**Chapter 1 **

Sam Winchester woke up to the way-too-familiar ring-tone of his cell phone. He snapped his head up and came face to face with a _Flying through space_ screensaver on his laptop. It took him a couple of seconds to get that he fell asleep on the keyboard. Again. Okay, nothing new here and, honestly, some sleep in whatever uncomfortable position every now and then was better than no sleep anyway. At least that was what a reasonable part of his mind kept telling him, whereas the other part, which generally lacked any common sense, panicked over every moment when Sam wasn't awake because first of all it meant that he was losing precious time.

He groaned in annoyance and groped all over the table for his cell phone, which had already started his second round of calls. Oh, who the hell would want to reach him so badly at… What time was it anyway?! He looked around, fixed his gaze at the alarm clock on the scarred bedside table and moaned. At 2:35 in the morning. Or was it night? Hell, whatever!

Phone flipped open, Sam grumbled, "Yeah," into the receiver. He leaned back on the most uncomfortable chair that ever existed in the world, not quite giving a damn about this fact though, and rubbed his face with his hand in a poor attempt to wake up properly. The moment he hated most – coming back from dreams to reality where his brother was gone – dead! But Sam had serious problems with processing this concept in his mind even now. Gone because of him, for the whole bloody month already! Oh, Lord, that was only one month? It felt like a year at least. So damn long! Like eternity…

"_Sam?_"

"Bobby? What the…" He cleared his throat, rubbed his eyes and finally turned off the screensaver that started getting on his nerves. "You… everything okay?" With concern now because, knowing Bobby, Sam doubted he's call at this time just to have a lazy chat.

"_Yeah, I'm fine. Where are you?_"

Good question!

Sam turned around, scanned the room. Really, no idea. Another room in another motel down the road to… pretty much nowhere so far. at last he spotted a laminated card with motel's price list for room services and check-out time that probably lay on the table so that clients had no problems with finding it and now got stuck under his computer. He pulled it from under the laptop and… there it was! The address.

"I'm in Wisconsin," Sam informed Bobby. How did he get here? Not that it mattered but…

"_Wisconsin?_" It was not that hard to imagine how Bobby brows shot up in surprise and disbelief. "_Is there… you know, anything? Any news?_"

Another doubtful lead to another dead end, and nothing else, Sam thought bitterly.

"No. Not yet, but I'm working…"

"_Listen, Sam_," Bobby interrupted him, "_I need you to come here_."

"Where?"

"_To my place_."

"What?" Sam frowned. "Why? No, I can't. I mean if there is a chance to find something here… I have to…"

"_That's what I'm talking about_."

"Have you…" San strained himself on the chair, so no ready to hope but… "You found something?"

There was a long pause on the line as if Bobby needed time to find right words for the answer. Sam heard muffled rustle and footsteps, and then a quiet squeal of the door opening and closing before Bobby spoke again.

"_Maybe. I'm not sure yet_."

"What is it, Bobby? What did you find?" Sam caught his breath in anticipation of an answer; swallowed hard.

"_You've gotta see it with your own eyes, Sam_."

"No, wait! Just tell me… Bobby?" He looked at his cell phone, shook it and repeated, "Bobby?" No answer. "Oh, crap!" He cursed through clenched teeth. Must have been a disconnection on the line or something like that.

But it got him. Bobby's words seriously got him because whatever it was, Bobby wouldn't have called him if it was nothing – why give false hope? But if it was _something_, than it was worth checking.

Sam jumped up to his feet, poor chair nearly falling backwards. He hated to think that he was leaving his research here just like that, halfway through, but truthfully it was leading nowhere so far, and in the back of his mind Sam had to admit that it was hardly possible that the situation would change, no matter how much time he'd spend buried in the books or surfing the Internet, or trying to find people, who knew other people, who knew someone else, who might know something that he needed, which in most cases was nothing. And, honestly, Sam was getting sick and tired of running in the circle.

He made his way to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face to bring his state somewhere close to capable of driving. Old mirror reflected a young man with worn-out face, bleary eyes and dark rumpled hair. And were these keyboard prints on his cheek?! Aside from the last fact, he looked like he hadn't slept or eaten normally for weeks, which was true actually, but of all things considered, these two bother Sam Winchester the least. Everything was meaningless compared to his brother sent in hell.

The image of Dean being torn apart by hellhounds stayed before Sam's mind's eye every minute – every bloody moment! – when he was awake. And when he wasn't – these short period of drowsiness – he had nightmares about his brother consumed by hellfire, so vivid that he was waking up in cold sweat.

It wasn't his own peaceful sleep, or lack of it, that bothered Sam. It was Dean who suffered in the pit for nothing. That was why he couldn't give up. He simply couldn't.

Sam returned to the room, tossed his stuff carelessly into his duffel bag, turned his laptop off, grabbed his jacket and car keys, and left the room without so much as a look back. If he forgot something there than it wasn't something that he really needed or couldn't replace.

He slid into the driver's seat of the Impala, turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot at top speed.

It felt awkward, almost shameful, to drive this car on his own, as if it wasn't right that it wasn't Dean on the driver's seat because this car was his "baby", a part of his personality. Sometimes Sam even thought that it was a part of Dean's soul. Made Sam feel even guiltier. But he was taking care of the thing anyway – and good care it was! – because he never doubted, even for a goddamned second, that sooner or later Dean would be back. Knew that he would never give up until his brother was alive again, or until he…

Sam turned on the music to cut off the train of his thought. Still the tapes. Lord, he nearly hated that stuff, really! Gee, they were archaic, like dinosaurs of all technologies. And, truth be told, he wasn't happy with Dean's choice of music either. But still couldn't bring himself to get rid of all that junk. Firstly, Dean would kill him the next moment he found it out. Secondly – and that was something weird, something that Sam didn't quite like thinking about – this horrible music was sort of helping him feel Dean sitting next to him when he was driving, humming something under his breath or tapping his fingers on the dashboard. Didn't want to fail Dean too knowing that he probably though that his brother would throw his stuff away first thing after his death. Didn't want to justify his worst fears.

He turned the wheel following the quirks of the road and yawned. It was right about time to find a round-the-clock diner to have some coffee; otherwise it was highly doubtful he'd make it to Bobby's alive. Moreover, it was highly doubtful he'd make it to the border of the state alive! He hadn't had good sleep ever since… that day. Developed a strong caffeine addiction even, but it was the last of Sam's worries. He didn't want to hope. Didn't dare. Not really. Knew better than that by now but his foot was stepping on the gas despite any logic and common sense, with only one thought in his mind – _"What if?"_

It took Sam five or six hours to make it to Bobby's, two stops – one in the diner and another at the gas station – assumed. He pulled the Impala up in front of an old house between the porch and a minivan shortly after dawn. The sun was still down but the sky had already started turning purple and lilac on the horizon.

Sam spotted light in the kitchen windows and hurried up the porch steps, curiosity and impatience literary pushing him into the back. He hadn't been talking to Bobby much lately, quick check-on calls aside. Too much grief, too much sorrow which Sam had to cope with on his own. And he appreciated it that Bobby had given him a chance. Sam knew that he suffered too, out of loss, and helplessness, and desperation, but it wasn't the same. Dean wasn't Bobby's brother, and he didn't sell his soul for him.

The door burst open when Sam only raised his hand to know, giving him a start.

"Bobby," he breathed out, a mixture of anxiety and relief in his voice.

Bobby gave him a long appraising look from head to toe, paused on dusty jacket and exhausted face, and shook his head.

"You look terrible, boy," was what he said for a greeting.

"You too," Sam chuckled.

And it was so true! Looking at Bobby was almost like looking in a mirror and seeing there an older version of myself, Sam thought. Absolutely world-weary and strangely old, not because of age – not only because of it at least – but because of something else. Weight of knowledge, if it could make one grow older, and pain of loss too.

"Come on in," Bobby grumbled. He took a big sip of what smelled like coffee from a big mug and checked on his wrist watch. "Wisconsin, huh? Did you fly?"

The question struck Sam, reminded him why he came here in the first place.

"Okay, I'm here, Bobby. What is it? What was all that hurry about?" He frowned.

"Calm down, Sam," with sad concern. "Maybe it's nothing. Maybe…"

"I don't want to calm down!" Sam interrupted him, his jaw twitched. "It's been a month, for God's sake! What is it?"

Bobby watched him considering for a minute or so. "Follow me," he said at last and went down the corridor and upstairs. Sam was right after him, close on the heels wondering what Bobby might get what he missed but too tired to come to a satisfying conclusion. "Just don't… hope too much. As I said it might be nothing."

"I crossed two states overnight," and there was stubborn determination in his voice. "I _want_ to hope too much. I _need_ to hope too much."

Bobby gave him a quick look over his shoulder, which was followed by a snort. They stopped at the guest room door. It squealed quietly when Bobby pushed it open.

"Here."

Sam poked his head inside. Spotted old table with a reading lamp in the corner and a double bed that was now lit with first rays of rising sun. He slept here several times when stopping at Bobby's, when he bothered to make it upstairs instead of spending a night on the couch in the living room. Knew that Bobby kept some of the weapons in the case under the bed, securely locked and supposedly well-hidden. But something was definitely wrong with the picture now.

His jaw dropped and his eyes literary popped out of his scull when he finally figured what exactly was wrong. Sam made at attempt to say something, but only gasped instead, and then started opening a closing his mouth like a fish in aquarium. Impossible! At last he turned and looked at Bobby who watched him calmly and somewhat sympathetically, obviously aware of Sam's feelings.

"But this is…" Sam started in a whisper. Paused and swallowed. Cast another quick look into the room "Can't be!"

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**To be continued…**

I know it's been only a couple of days since I finished my previous fic… but, really, I just couldn't help myself :))


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: A-a-and here I am again! This chapter is not long, as well as the previous one, but I had to start with something. You can be sure that the following chapters are going to be a bit longer :))

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**Chapter 2**

"Yep! My first reaction exactly," Bobby nodded; sidestepped Sam into the corridor and closed the door carefully.

"Is there really…?" Sam blinked and stared pretty dumbly at the door resisting a wish to open it again and sneak one more peek in. Just to make sure that what he saw was real and not a result of excessive content of caffeine in his brain.

"Yes, Sam. Bela." Bobby pushed him away from the door and back downstairs. "I told you, you've gotta see her with your own eyes. Knew you wouldn't believe me if I just told you. I wouldn't if I were you. Now, how about some coffee?" Another long estimating look. "And I guess a breakfast would do too."

"Yeah," Sam fell onto the chair in the kitchen once they reached it, ran his fingers through his hair while Bobby dove into the fridge after filling in coffee machine and turning it on, once again. "But… I just… What is she doing here?!"

"Sleeping," Bobby shrugged matter-of-factly.

"So I've noticed! I mean… why? No, _how_?!" Sam peered at him. "Yeah, Bobby, _how_?"

"Honestly? No idea!" He put a mug with steaming coffee before Sam.

But Sam, too excited to sit still got to his feet and started circling around the room kicking on chair legs accidentally from time to time while trying to cope with a crazy rush of thoughts in his head. This wasn't what he expected. Not even anywhere close to what he expected when he was driving here, truth be told! A spell – yes, or a book, which needed to be translated first. An amulet or another powerful magical object. Or another half-lead to another someone who might know something. Standard scenario. But not…

"Bobby, she made a deal!"

"I know."

"And she died when it came due!"

"Uh-huh, know that too," he singsonged. And coming from Bobby, it sounded funny.

"Then how comes…" Sam paused near the window and looked outside having an unpleasant and pretty annoying feeling that he started going insane. "How did you find her anyway?" Looked at Bobby again.

"I didn't," he hemmed.

Sam frowned. "I don't…"

"Sit," Bobby pointed at the chair Sam left some two minutes earlier and put a plate before him when he sank back down. Took his own seat across from him. "She just… came here."

"Came?" Sam choked around a piece of bacon. "What do you mean – _came_?"

"Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are now, or maybe even more." Bobby paused, apparently recalling that moment. "There was a knock on the door. And when I opened it Bela was there looking slightly… not like herself. And when she saw me, she just…passed out. Fainted right into my arms. Scared crap out of me, I've gotta tell you," added on a sigh. "It happened two days ago. I called you right away, Sam, thought you gotta know it. But your phone was off. Last night was the first time I reached you."

"Low battery," Sam winced. "Sorry, forgot to recharge it."

"Don't worry, you haven't missed anything yet. She was out since then. Woke up a couple of times but it was more like sleepwalking or something, dunno," Bobby finished his coffee. "Looked creepy. No recognition in the eyes. Nothing."

"Have any idea why?"

"My best guess – exhaustion," he tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Other than that, assuming that normally it is physically imposing to come back to life once you're freaking dead, I'm out of _any_ ideas, boy."

Sam leaned across the table when sudden realization appeared in his mind, like a bulb turned on. Looked cautiously into the corridor and lowered his voice. "But Bela died, Bobby. Are you sure she is…?"

"Alive," Bobby nodded. "Very much alive, if you ask me."

"No, I mean, is she… human?"

The question made Bobby's lips quirk into a wry smile.

"I couldn't say it for sure even before." Made Sam smirk in agreement. "And yes, she's human as far as I can tell. I tried everything – holy water, silver knife. Hope she's not going to hold that scratch against me. Sanctified cross, too, by the way. Even Devil's trap! Bela's clear. Only rolled over in her sleep when I made an attempt to exorcize whatever might be possessing her."

Bobby got to his feet and went to put his plate in a sink, then poured more coffee into that huge mug of his. That would make more than a liter over the last hour, Sam calculated mentally. Well, it seemed like Bobby was using caffeine as fuel for himself, too. The thought made Sam feel sorry for an old friend. He was taking the situation hard as well.

And then another realization followed, if a little belatedly. And it was his own exhaustion, and maybe a bit of shock too, and apparently a somewhat blindsided view on the situation that didn't let him see it right from the start, damn his slow to process brain.

Sam spun around, eyes lit up with something resembling crazy hope, as if he finally saw light in the end of the tunnel, and it wasn't a train tunnel.

"But, Bobby, if Bela made a deal…"

"She did."

"… And died…"

"Uh-huh."

"… and she's alive now, then Dean…"

"That's why I wanted you to come. We gotta find out how she did it." Bobby returned to the table, took his seat again, fingers playing absentmindedly with a paper tissue now as if he needed to occupy his hands somehow and it was the best idea that came to his mind.

"And you told me that it might be nothing," almost with accusation that was completely erased by happiness. "All we have to do is ask her, right?"

Bobby snorted, "She's asleep."

"Then let's wake her up!" Sam was on his feet on an instant but Bobby caught him by the arm and forced him back onto the chair.

"I tried to wake her up. Seems like sleeping beauty is not that enthusiastic about it."

"What about Dean?" Sam exclaimed. "We need her up!"

"What do you suggest? Empty a bucket of cold water onto her?"

"Think it's gonna help?" Rather mischievously.

"Let's just not rush ahead, all I say."

"Dean died because of her, Bobby!" Sam hissed with fury. "None of this would happen if we had the Colt! Meaning if Bela didn't steal it to pass it to our worst enemy in the whole wide world. Did you forget about it? I'd rather she sold it or something, you know. Ungrateful heartless bitch! I'm sorry but I sort of can't make myself give a damn about her or anything related to her. And if there is a chance that she could be of use in saving Dean, be sure I'll take it!"

Bobby sighed. Looked down at his hands.

"I don't say I care and I don't say you should, Sam," and it definitely sounded like he had already given this question some serious thinking. Two days, Sam remembered. Two days to calm down and take a sober look at the things - that was what he lacked. "I only worry about how not to make everything worse."

"Worse – how?" Sam frowned. Like Dean's death wasn't the worst thing to happen ever! Aw, come on!

"That's the problem – I don't know. Maybe it's not… you know, _safe_ to wake Bela up before it happened… _naturally_. I don't know!"

Sam nodded.

He didn't say a word for a while, and then, "Who do you think could that be?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean who would want to save Bela from hell?" Sam shrugged, looked Bobby in the face. "It's not like she'd do it on her own, right? No one would stay _there_ is they could escape."

"Oh, crap!" Bobby rubbed at his eyes. "Been trying to figure out _how_… but you know it, there's nothing. As for _who_… Sounds like a bad joke, ya see." Gave out a short laugh that sounded more bitter than amused. "Most people I know would rather seal the doorway to hell only _not_ to let her out." He paused. "And I'll tell you the truth, Sam. I've been looking for something, searching for a way… but before that girl showed up at my doorstep I seriously doubted that there _existed_ a way to get out."

"At least we have real hope now," Sam's lips quirked. "Funny how tables can turn, huh? Now we depend on her. But Bela must know, right? Must be aware of who her savior is. And we just have to find him and…"

A noise from upstairs – a sound of a broken glass – cut him off. They both snapped their heads up, exchanged puzzled looks and then were on their feet without so much as a word and rushing up to the second floor.

---

It felt strange, weird even, like drifting through thick grey fog. Not exactly unpleasant but definitely not something one would like to experience over and over again. There were flashes of red light and high-pitched screams every now and then, but they were too short to figure out what they were about or to see where and who they were coming from. It seemed like there was no left or right, no up or down, and there was no time and space, just this grey fog everywhere around, which was making everything even more difficult. Not that she cared, wasn't even really curious, maybe just a little. Or maybe she simply wanted this distraction to disappear.

And then there was that force that appeared out of nowhere, strong and fast, and utterly unexpected, and terrifying. It grabbed her and pulled her forward, or was it backwards? It didn't matter though…

Bela snapped her eyes open and sat on a rush breathing heavily, practically gasping for air. She felt dizzy and nauseous, bright spots flashing before her eyes, and that nearly made her fall back again. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a drum, quick and loud.

She jerked aside abruptly when her eyes focused on unfamiliar scenery, her elbow hit against the bedside table. A glass with water placed on top of it shook slightly, and then fell to the floor and crashed into pieces making Bela literary jump and jerk away from the loud sound. Her heart thumping so crazily that she was halfway to hyperventilating now, and even closer to fainting. Couldn't think of anything straight, her thoughts were a hysterical mess consisting of fear, and shock, and misunderstanding, and God knew what else. She looked down at herself, at her hands, at her clothes. Wiggled her fingers out of wish to make sure she was in control of her body. But… how? The last thing she remembered was…

And then the door burst open, its handle hit the wall, and two tall dark figures literary stumbled into the room making so much noise as if there were at least a dozen of them.

Bela scooted backwards, pressed her back against the wall so hard that it hurt but, scared as she was, she didn't feel it anyway. Her hand groped around for something to defend herself, but there was only a pillow and a faded shawl which she tossed aside when she woke up.

"Who are you?" She whispered barely audibly, cast another look full of panic around the room and then fixed her gaze on the newcomers once again. "What's going on? How did I get here?" She swallowed hard when her voice began to tremble. "What did you do to me?"

Bobby and Sam froze in the doorway, clearly aware of her somewhat anxious state and looked at each other, both thinking one and the same thing – Bela looked like a wild animal that was caught and locked in a cage.

"Easy…" Bobby started soothingly.

"Don't come to me!" She threw her arm up in self-protection gesture and moved even further away from them risking to pitch off the bed. "Stay away!"

"Bela, it's me, Bobby," quietly and slowly, avoiding any sharp movements and keeping his voice low. Okay, it wasn't exactly what he expected, but who could predict how would behave a person who was just back from hell? "And Sam," he added gesturing vaguely to the left. Her eyes darted towards Sam quickly, and then back to Bobby. "Remember?" All this while approaching her cautiously. "It's okay now. No one's going to harm you."

She locked her gaze on his face, blinked without so much as recognition, and then, "Bobby?" in absolute disbelief. Bela lowered her arm, looked around the room once again and repeated, "What did you do to me?"

**To be continued…**

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So, what do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note**: First of all I'd like to thank everyone for your reviews! I really appreciate it, guys :)) They are the best support and encouragement ever. Mostly I write all this stuff at night(s) when I have insomnia, so please blame all mistakes and insanities to an excessive lever of caffeine in my brain.

Well, no more words! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

Long shower was exactly what Bela needed. She leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall in the small shower cubicle filled with thick white steam and let hot water stream down her body for the whole thirty minutes, barely moving over this time, and it felt like it was essentially helping in clearing her mind as well.

Eight weeks. She was dead for the whole eight weeks. That was what Bobby told her. Or maybe he was addressing Sam. Bela didn't care much. What made her wonder was how on earth it was possible that she was no longer dead. Oh, Lord! The thought made her snicker to herself. No longer dead! Like _no longer working here_, or _no longer on vacation_, or _no longer playing baseball on weekends_. Or something else _normal_.

But it wasn't normal, even in her reality. Not even anywhere close to normal. Not that she minded being alive – kidding? who the hell would mind?! – but it seriously bothered her – _how_? And why? Reverse those two questions, maybe. Bela tried to recall whether she ever heard about people who managed to come back from the other side, and giggled despite herself at the image of zombies from old low-budget horror movies in her mind. Not exactly an answer she wanted to find.

On the other hand, maybe it was a mass break-out and now the whole world was flooded with former hell prisoners, and she was just one of them? An accident, nothing special. Well, of course it was something special! To her. But all in all… Could be. The Winchesters had already been clumsy enough once to let the Hell Gate be opened. Bela hoped that they were smarter than making the same mistake twice but, honestly, she wouldn't have put it past them. Besides, there could be someone else – someone knew – who could have made it, accidentally or for a reason.

It was the simplest explanation, the easiest one so far. And the most insane too, but, truth be told, she still didn't feel quite well to think properly and logically, and look for another one, although she had to admit that her state was perfect for someone who was dead for the whole eight bloody weeks. Oh, God, was she _buried_?! The thought made her shiver.

Bela turned the water off, slicked her sopping wet hair from her face, wrapped herself up in a towel and got out of the cubicle. She brushed her palm against the weeping mirror and stared at her reflection. Wanted to make sure it was _her_ reflection, the way she remembered it, as if it could have changed over the last half an hour. Still had a problem with believing that something made her alive again. Couldn't help but wonder what she'd do if she saw someone else in the mirror, like her soul in other person's body, or…

Or probably it would be better if she stopped thinking about it before she went crazy, Bela decided. Too much for now. Too much for one day.

One hour after waking up she – dressed up in Bobby's old shorts and a t-shirt that was at least three times larger than necessary and could probably lodge one more Bela if needed – was sitting downstairs at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming coffee and a plate with sandwich before her. She actually didn't pay much attention to it though, too annoyed by Bobby and Sam who kept on peering at her without so much as a blink, as if she was an alien or something, like a monkey in the zoo, and they didn't want to miss the show. Okay, looking at the situation from their point of view she could understand it, but c'mon!

"Listen, if you expect to hear an exciting story, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you," Bela said at last some ten minutes later when she started feeling that their gazes were half-way to burning a hole in her. "The last thing I remember is hellhounds howling…" her voice trailed off and she dropped her eyes, looked at the scarred surface of the table instead and shrugged pretty matter-of-factly, as if it was nothing. "No white light in the end of the tunnel. No hell-fire," nearly in a whisper and more to herself than to them. Or maybe it was somewhere there... where she couldn't see it.

The problem was that she was telling the truth – she didn't remember anything between now and then, as if what she was talking about happened a little more than an hour ago, a little too vivid in her head. She could still feel that fear and desperation consuming her, burning her alive, and that pounding of her heart in her chest, in her head, everywhere. And then… nothing.

"So, you don't remember how you got here?" Bobby asked cautiously and somewhat suspiciously.

"Here – where?"

"_Here_," he gestured around. Paused. "Well, to my porch actually, but that's details. How did you find my place anyway? Don't remember ever inviting you."

"Never knew it was a big secret," with a scoff. "But speaking of this particular case, I have no idea," Bela stared back at him, held his gaze for long enough to make it clear she was in no mood for any games. "Truthfully, I cannot even imagine how it could be physically possible." Angled her head slightly. "No, seriously, guys, what did you do? A spell? Not that I'm not grateful, just curious. From where I'm standing, it is a whole new level of magic."

"Don't flatter yourself," Sam snorted, clearly with resentment and despise, which made Bela arch her brows in unspoken question. He shook his head in mock disbelief that she actually could be that naïve to think that any of them would give damn about her ill fate.

"Cute!" Bela drawled, strangely hurt by his comment, but not quite surprised. And anyway, when it came to pretending and hiding feelings, she was still the best. Sam's words brought her to another thought though. "Where is my dear friend Dean, by the way?" Even looked around as if expecting to see him standing behind her back. "I'm sure he'd have a word or two to say about my resurrection."

Bobby cleared his throat. Dropped his gaze.

The pause seemed so long and heavy that Bela anything but ran out of the room knowing in the back of her mind that she knew an answer and didn't want to hear it being said out loud.

"What?" She asked with a frown nonetheless, totally against herself, before she came up with a smart idea to bite her tongue.

"Dean's dead, Bela!" Sam hissed at her. His eyes narrowed in poorly hidden outrage and he looked like given a chance to burn someone with his gaze he'd do it without so much as a hesitation.

It struck her despite any half-guesses. It struck her more than she could have expected. Crushed her. Made her freeze to the chair, or maybe it was Sam's glare that literary pinned her to it. Bela swallowed hard, feeling that something squeezed her lunges so tight that she could hardly take a breath, tried to process this new information in her mind and… failed. It was something beyond her.

She never doubted – not even for one goddamned second! – that Dean would find a way to break the deal, escape with pit. With Colt or without it. He was _Dean_ after all, and he couldn't die because… he couldn't!

Her heart jumped up to her throat and then fell deep down somewhere. Unable to hold Sam's gaze, Bela looked down.

"I'm sorry…"

"And should I explain why he died?" Sam moved on. Hatred, and pain, and fury were so strong in his voice that she was taken aback as if he physically pushed her. "Who caused it?"

"Um… a demon?"

"You!" Sam bellowed.

Bela snapped her head up. "I was trying to save my life, Sam!" She hissed in defensive tone. So what if she felt guilty and miserable and preferred not to know the truth? So what if she knew that Sam was right? So what if his words struck her right in the heart? So what if she could barely handle it? There was no need for him to know it. He had no right to blame her for the wish to live.

"Yeah, a mistake that Dean once made, too!" He shot right back. "Saved you life. And you killed him!"

Bela was on her feet before she knew it and glaring at Sam, fire in her eyes. "I can't turn back time and I can't do anything about it now!" _I wish I could but I can't_. "I said I was sorry. What else do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Sam snapped. "I don't want anything from you, and save your excuses. They can't bring my brother back! I'd just rather Dean was alive instead of you. God sees he deserves it more than anyone, least of all you, Bela."

"Sam," Bobby stepped forward when it became obvious that Sam and Bela were a moment away from starting a real fight.

"What?" Sam grimaced. "Gonna say I'm not right?"

"Just back off for a sec. And you," Bobby pointed his finger at Bela, "sit down. I don't want a blood bath in my kitchen. Do try to be civilized, both of you."

Sam frowned but moved towards the sink and leaned against it. He pursed his lips and folded his arms on the chest. Glared at Bela, and if a look could actually kill, she be long lying dead on the wooden floor. _I'm sorry_, Sam mimicked her mentally. As if her _I'm sorry_ could change anything! He wasn't even sure she _was_ sorry. 'Course she wasn't! To be sorry one should have heart first! Something that Bela Talbot definitely couldn't brag about.

Bela scowled but obeyed nonetheless and lowered herself back onto the chair. Sent another flaring look at Sam and swallowed all these words that nearly slipped out of her mouth. She looked at the situation from his point of view and, honestly, she didn't like what she saw. It seemed pretty ugly. But what could she do?!

"Look," Bobby took a seat across from Bela, gave her a somewhat appraising glance, "we really didn't do anything to bring you back…"

"Gee, thanks! Not that I expected. The world would probably turn upside down if you did."

Bobby ignored her sarcasm though, and continued, "But we were looking for a way to bring Dean back, ever since he…" he paused and cleared his throat. Bela got what he was going to say though, and saw how hard it was for Bobby – if impossible – to say it out loud. "And we found nothing. No way to make someone alive once he's dead, unless you want to bring back something not quite human. Like… zombie, or… something else unpleasant. Well, you're definitely not…"

"Speak for yourself," Sam grumbled in a low voice.

"…It means that there is a way, and if you know…"

"Swear to God, Bobby, I have no idea."

"What? You didn't pay to someone before dying to save you from hell?" Sam gasped in mock disbelief, made big eyes at her, all _you never seize to amaze me, baby_. "How could that be?"

"Sam!" Bobby cut him off warningly. "Bela, if you know someone who could have saved you… or what…"

"It sounds like a bad joke, Bobby, really," her wry grin was more bitter than amused. Bela shook her head feeling all of a sudden terribly lonely, all on her own. "Actually, I never was _this_ optimistic to believe that you would help me, so I admitted a thought that something happened, like an Apocalypse or…" she rubbed her forehead thoughtfully and then looked rather helplessly at Bobby, who turned back to Sam, who only shrugged. "Guess, I was wrong."

"If anything like that happened, Dean would be the first to get out," Sam commented rather darkly.

"No doubt about that," Bela muttered under her breath not addressing anyone in particular.

Bobby chewed on his lower lip. "So, you don't know…"

"Last thing I remember is talking to Dean on the phone," she interrupted him looking into nowhere. Got pretty annoyed by their slowness by now. _I'll see you in hell._ His last words to her. The last words she heard before… Bela wondered somewhat distractedly what were the last words that Dean heard, the last thing he saw. And understood that it strangely bothered her a tad more than she'd like to admit. "Then… then I woke up here. That's it." Raised her head and met Bobby's eyes. "I don't know how I got here. All I know is that… I didn't want to die."

"Ever thought that it might be a right thing to happen?" Sam snarled.

"Who made you a God?" Bela snapped back.

"No need to be a God to see something _that_ obvious!"

"Would you two shut up please?" Bobby growled with growing irritation. "Somebody's trying to think here!" Glared at them in turns, something like _only-dare-to-open-your-mouths_. And then, "Thank you!" when no one said a word. "Technically speaking, we're not interested in _reasons_. All we have to do is find out _how_," on looking at Bela again. "And help Dean."

"And you have to help us with this, Bela," Sam added, not at all enthusiastic, as if it was something very unpleasant but yet inevitable and all he could do was give up. And so he did.

His voice irked her.

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because you killed him!"

"Thank you, Sam! I got your opinion, no need to repeat twice. Really."

"It's not an opinion. It's the truth."

"Are you finished?" Bobby rolled his eyes referring to endless bickering. Oh, like they had nothing else to do! "He's right, Bela. You're our only clue to how… revive Dean."

"I already told you everything I knew," she reminded him, finally took a sip of her long cold coffee. Hoped they didn't notice her trembling hands.

"You told us nothing," Sam put in grimly.

Bela gave him a look over the rim of her mug. "Because I know nothing."

"But there should be something, and I'm sure if we analyze everything…" Bobby started thoughtfully. He got to his feet and awarded himself with another steaming and bitter drink.

"Okay, okay," Bela rolled her eyes and raised her hands in universal _I-give-up_ gesture. "Whatever! If you think it can be of help… I can try. Happy?"

"Sounds like a Christmas gift," Sam snorted.

She ignored him entirely.

"First of all I've got to make a couple of phone calls to find out something that you obviously couldn't, and then…"

"No," Bobby interrupted her firmly. "You can't call anyone. Officially, you're still dead. And the longer you stay _dead_, the better. We can't let anyone know that you are... back."

"Does it make me a prisoner here or what?" Bela inquired with a frown.

"'Course it doesn't!" Bobby exclaimed somewhat defensively, insulted by her supposition. "It's just a precaution."

"Simple logic," Sam added.

"Says the one who is going to bring someone back from dead," Bela smirked.

"Says the one who _is_ back from dead," Sam mimicked her.

Bobby sighed. "You two should be isolated. From each other and from the rest of the world."

--

Bela rolled over and stared at the ceiling. The bed was stiff and the pillow was flat and slightly lump-ridden, and not even anywhere close to what she used to sleep on. Besides, old house was full of all kinds of strange noises that she wasn't accustomed to. All these squeaks and rustles made Bela imagine that it was breathing, as if living a life of its own.

Not that there was a chance for her to fall asleep anyway, even in the most comfortable bed ever, Bela thought with a sigh.

Dead.

Dean Winchester was dead.

She couldn't believe it because it was something too big and too overwhelming to process in her mind. And she couldn't stop thinking about it either. Couldn't get image of him out of her mind even for a moment. So alive. So full of energy and vital force every single moment of his life. Always an optimist. Always… _Dean_. The only one. Unique.

Bela was one thousand percent sure that he would find a way to kill Lilith and save himself, and Sam, assuming that it was the general idea. He was smart – despite what she was saying, and actually thinking, sometimes – and he had Sam, and Bobby. Truth be told, Bela didn't even think that he _could_ die. Like – _at all_! Not in _immortal_ sort of way of course. Everyone was mortal after all, unless they were demons or something else. But he just… couldn't. Because it was wrong. Because it wasn't how it was meant to be. Not like this. So unfair!

And how could Sam let it happen, she wondered. How could he let Dean go? What was he thinking?! How could he fail to find a way out of this mess? Could it be that there really was nothing? But there always was _something_. Always! Apparently, having him and Bobby around wasn't enough for Dean and, honestly, it surprised Bela even more than her own resurrection, which still was a big mystery, but she couldn't think about everything at the same time, and it suddenly turned out that thinking about Dean was something that she couldn't control.

Bela bit her lip and blinked quickly several times. She wasn't a crier. And, truthfully, crying never was a good idea or a way to solve a problem. Moreover, it made no sense to cry over something that couldn't be changed. Besides, it was embarrassing, too, even when no one was looking. So what if Dean… meant something to her? (Why deny it now?) So what if he was the closest thing she ever had to a friend in her entire life? (Even if he didn't share this opinion because he definitely didn't.) So what if she couldn't even begin to say how much it meant to her that he never let her down? Well, maybe except for that last time, but it was her fault after all. She was blind, and stupid, and too stubbornly determined to stay on her own till the end. (Oh, and look where it led!) Too scared to trust. Okay, maybe not _scared_ exactly. _Overly experienced_ was a better choice of words. And now she lost the only person she…

Sam was right. And no matter how intent she was to prove the contrary – because hell if anyone needed to know what she actually felt! – Bela knew that it was she who practically sent Dean to hell. With her bare hands. And it was that very case when the phrase was nearly literal. Sam was even right about her not deserving to live, she couldn't deny that too. Didn't have anything to say against _any_ accusations he could come up with actually. Should have known better than trusting bloody demons! Knew from the start that every word they said was a lie and still let herself be that easily misled. How could she believe them? _Her_? That little bitch!

Bela kicked her blankets off and got up cringing at the cold floor beneath her bare feet, as well as at the soft squeak of the floor boards. Her eyes had already got used to the darkness and she could make it through the room without tripping over one thing or another. Bela came up to the window and looked out into the backyard, but there was nothing except for dark shadows and grass which seemed bluish in the moonlight.

So quiet…

Bela leaned her forehead against smooth surface and took a deep breath which came in pretty convulsively, like a sob. "I'm sorry, Dean," she whispered. Felt that her eyes started to burn, and unbidden tears on her cheeks seemed unnaturally hot in contrast with cool glass of the window. "If you can hear me – I'm so sorry. Help me, please. Help me to help you. I can't do it on my own. I don't understand what's going on and I'm so scared. I need you, Dean. Please, don't leave me now."

* * *

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: I know, you've been waiting for it :)) Mm, anyone asked for Dean? What do you mean – _no one_?! *big eyes* Okay, kidding :)) No more words…

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

"First of all, bring me normal clothes," Bela demanded in the morning and anything but cringed at the view of herself in the antique mirror which hang on the wall in the living room, and turned away hurriedly.

Wondered in the back of her mind what happened to _her_ clothes and all the stuff she had. And her apartment. Her car… Her collection of priceless antiquities. Sold in auction most likely. Should have bequeathed it all to the Winchesters, she thought ruefully. There were things they could have used. One fine gesture as the last _goodbye_. Bela seriously hated it that good ideas usually occurred to her when it was too late.

On the other hand, she didn't leave a will or something – optimistically, she never planned to _actually_ die – so chances were she'd find it untouched. Once she had a chance to check it, of course.

"What does it have to do with helping Dean?" Sam hemmed.

"Nothing!" She rolled her eyes. "But it has a lot to do with my sanity. For God's sake, if I can't leave this place, I want to at least feel somewhere close to myself!"

Bobby weighted her words and nodded after a short pause. "Anything else?"

"_Porsche_? Condo in Malibu?" Sam muttered finishing his coffee but loud enough for everyone – namely Bela – to hear.

"Ouija board would do. Thank you!" With growing irritation.

"Why?"

"Well, I have to start with something, Sam!" Bela cocked her head, hands on her hips, and looked at him somewhat sympathetically, as if he was some imbecile who couldn't understand even the simplest things. And where did that scared like hell girl he saw yesterday go? "What else am I supposed to do if I have no damn idea what the hell is this all about? You might as well be helpful."

Sam glared at her. "You sure you don't remember anything?"

"Oh, of course I remember everything, _honey_!" She drawled mockingly, voice sweet as sugar, with an emphasis on _honey_. "I just say that I don't out of wish to piss you off. And because I like it when you get on my nerves asking that question over and over and over again!" Sam blinked. "Are you done with stupid questions? Don't you think I would have told you everything I knew… if I actually knew?"

"What? For _free_?" He scoffed.

"Consider it a charity."

Bobby stuck his head into the room, looked at the two of them in turns. Noted Sam's balled fists and sharp gaze and Bela's quite relaxed posture, and smirked to himself.

"Sam, you coming?" He called.

"Sure."

"Bela, behave."

"When I didn't?" She snorted, folded her arms on the chest, all insulted pride.

"Well…" he paused. "Never. Anyway, sit tight."

"Like I have a choice," Bela muttered under her breath when the front door closed behind them. She looked around. Spotted piles of books all over the floor, and shelves, and tables, and all other flat surfaces, registered protections symbols drawn everywhere on the walls and even on the ceiling, and huffed in frustration. "Great! And what the hell am I supposed to entertain myself with _here_?"

"I don't trust her, Bobby," Sam said slamming the passenger's door and buckling his seatbelt.

"Yeah, well, me neither," Bobby admitted and started the engine. Gave his house another long thoughtful look before driving away. "But from where I'm standing, she needs us as much as we need her."

"What are you talking about? From where I'm standing, Bela doesn't need anyone, and never did, unless she wanted to use them and get money – or something else valuable – for it." Sam snorted recalling how many times she played this trick on Dean and him. And how stupid it was of them to buy it over and over again. Fatal mistake.

"Right," Bobby agreed without hesitation having nothing to say against that. "But not now. She's in real danger."

"After all she'd done? No wonder! Strange she lasted that long."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm not talking about that. But, Sam, just imagine how many people, and not only people, would like to find out how she escaped from the pit. Bet most of them won't be as friendly as you and me." Caught Sam's nod. "I'm sure she knows it too. She's not stupid. And that's the only reason why I didn't lock her up in the basement before leaving."

"Tempting. Anyway, we should keep our eyes open."

"I never said we shouldn't. It's Bela after all."

Sam chuckled. "Where are we going?"

"To visit an old friend of mine. She's seriously into this _séances_ and _talking to the dead_ thing." Bobby's lips quirked into a wry smirk. "Guess we need a real talking board, not that toy that people buy for pajama parties."

They drove in silence for several miles.

"Um, Bobby…" Sam started after a while, "what if Bela's right? What if something _big_ happened… like _then_… and we missed it?"

Bobby didn't reply right away. Watched the road for some time, considering. The crease between his eyebrows deepened. "Could be," he said at last with a sigh. "That's what we have to find out too, Sam," not at all enthusiastic about the possibility of a positive answer.

***

Bela laid the talking board flat on top of the table in the living room. Made Bobby clean it first though, remove all books and notepads and a whole ton of other junk somewhere, which he did unwillingly and with a scowl. Been glaring at her with displeasure all the way through and received a brilliant smile back, all teeth. Knew she did it to piss him off further.

Ouija board that Sam and Bobby brought some three hours later surprised Bela, made her even gasp in awe. It was old, antique and looked very much like the one that she owned. Real one. Powerful. She felt it the moment she touched it, the flow of energy that started streaming up her arms on an instant as if spirits were impatient to share whatever information they had. Restless spirits, she knew it.

Bela sighed and closed her eyes, took several deep breaths and put her fingers lightly on the planchette. Years of experience taught her to do it right – not to close, but it still was a touch. She tried to concentrate, tried to form a question in her head…

And then, "Can you stop it please?" on a frustrated look at Sam and Bobby over her shoulder.

They blinked at her and then exchanged puzzled looks. "Stop what?" Bobby asked cautiously and genuinely confused.

"Burning a hole in my back!" Bela rolled her eyes. "It's not helping the matters, you see. You can come and stand here if you want, just don't…"

"Sorry," Sam cleared his throat. Gave a quick glance to Bobby and then looked at Bela, somewhat apologetically. The first time he treated her not like some devil's reject. She arched her eyebrows but did not comment. Saved it for later.

"Sorry," Bobby echoed.

None of them moved though and Bela turned back to the table with a sigh wishing they'd leave her alone instead. They couldn't help anyway and were only making her even more nervous. Like she wasn't nervous enough by now! Moments away from _something_.

Bela closed her eyes again and tried to block everything out of her mind, except for the question _Who helped me out of hell?_

The planchette started moving under her fingers almost immediately. Slowly at first, then more sure as if the force that was actually moving it grew stronger. _Stay focused_, Bela told herself. _Concentrate. They are stronger than you. Don't let them in. Don't let them take control of the situation. You let it happen, you lose, and that's exactly what they want_. The answer came right away, and for one crazy moment it seemed to her that it actually came even before she finished the question. Bela frowned. Repeated her question. And then again, and again.

"I don't understand," she lowered herself heavily onto the chair, stared helplessly at Bobby and Sam.

"What is it? What does it say?" Sam was on his feet and at her side the next moment, followed closely by Bobby. Both looking down at her, anything but hopping on the spot from impatience.

"It says – _you_," Bela bit her lower lip. "That is – me. But I don't… it makes no sense!" Shifted her gaze from one to the other, and then to the board.

"What did you ask?"

She rubbed her forehead. "I asked who helped me to get out. They said – _you_, as if I did it myself."

"Maybe you should ask it some… other way?" Sam offered.

"No, I tired different combination of words saving the meaning. It didn't help."

"And what if you…" Bobby started.

"I asked about Dean, too," Bela interrupted him causing heavy silence hang in the room. "I asked how to help him. How to get him out." She paused. "The answer was the same and… I don't get it. Swear to God, have no idea what spirits are trying to say."

"Best guess?" Sam asked.

"This thing is broken," she snorted pointing at the Ouija board.

"It can't be broken!" Bobby objected.

"But it is the most logical explanation! You have a better one, I'm all ears."

"You found a way to come back, a spell or something," Sam's intense glance stopped on her face. "Then you paid to someone to perform it after you die, and all this show here with the board and vague answers is just for fun."

"My sense of humor is better than that," she scoffed. "Besides, do I look like I have a bunch of close friends willing to do me such a favor?"

Sam was about to say that this is the last thing he considered possible…

"Wait a minute!" Bobby exclaimed stopping another round of bantering which, truthfully, started driving him crazy a long time ago. "It makes sense… sort of."

Sam and Bela whipped their heads round. "What?" simultaneously.

"Bela, the last thing you thought about before…?" he trailed off and peered at her, even caught his breath in anticipation of an answer, she noted.

_I'll see you in hell. I'll see you in hell. I'll see you in hell…_His voice growing stronger in her head with each moment.

"The last thing on my mind," almost in a whisper and not looking at any of them, "was that I didn't want to go there so much." Raised her head and met their eyes hoping that she didn't let her emotions slip. Not fully at least. "I didn't want to die. Who would?"

"Exactly!"

"What?" She blinked at him in misunderstanding. "You're kidding, right? I don't think it's about _wanting_, Bobby. In that case Heaven would quickly lose its appeal – it would get uncomfortably overcrowded."

"No, I'm pretty serious actually," Bobby grimaced, as if he finally looked at the situation from their point of view. "Although I admit that it sounds a bit crazy."

"Mm… _a bit_?" Bela batted eyelashes at him, voice soft and soothing now, as it was generally considered safe to agree with people who were not in their right mind, whatever they were saying.

This voice made Sam frown. Bobby didn't seem to pay attention though.

"No, I mean it, Bela. None of us can actually use this thing," all three of them looked at the talking board. "There's gotta be something about you."

Bela gawked at him. Oh, this couldn't be happening. She couldn't be hearing that nonsense. Did they stop somewhere on the way back to have a drink or two?

"Or maybe they kicked you out because hell was a too good place for you," Sam suggested. "Should have guessed that from the start," added to himself.

"Then why wouldn't you go and check it yourself?" Bela shot back right away. "Just please don't blind them with that divine light of yours!"

Bobby ignored them both. "Unless you have a better idea, we gotta stick with my plan," on looking at Bela.

"What plan?" She asked suspiciously. Didn't like that gleam in Bobby's eyes. Determination. It never led to anything good when people looked at the world like this. And Bela, all her knowledge and experience assumed, felt an immense urge to flee. Far, far away.

"I'm thinking," he replied. Rubbed his chin and then met Sam's eyes. Damn her imagination, but Bela could have sworn that she saw how a thousand watt bulb turned on and started shining bright in his head. "_The Rising_!"

"_The Rising_?" Sam frowned recalling one thing or another in his memory, and then his face lit up.

"_The Rising_?" Bela repeated after them. An urge to flee grew stronger. "What _is_ that?"

No one seemed pay attention to her question though.

"Right," Sam nodded quickly. Bela could practically hear him thinking. "But, Bobby, it's got to be full moon…"

"Yeah, but it is full moon today."

"You know what?" Bela interjected. "You have fun, boys!" As lightly as she could. Even patted Sam on the shoulder. "But I stay out of this."

"No way!" Bobby grumbled. "You're a V.I.P. guest."

***

It was an old and long abandoned cemetery at the very border of the town. The one where no one came to visit the graves of their friends or loved ones because they either didn't care any more, or were dead themselves. Most crosses and tombstones were lopsided or damaged, braided with ivy – dry at this time of the year. The paths between them had been last cleaned decades ago. Thick layer of dead leaves on them was now making the whole place look even more sad and forgotten.

The three of them occupied a 200-year old marble crypt with a long broken off rusty iron gate, which initially was supposed to keep the intruders away. Well, not everything in this world was working the way it was meant to be.

Bobby, Sam and Bela stood around the stone tomb covered with black cloth, like an altar or something. The place would have been completely dark if it wasn't for three wax candles, one before each of them.

"Why always a cemetery?" Bela muttered under her breath and shook her head as _Nothing_ when Bobby gave her a questioning look. No, seriously, why couldn't these bloody rituals require a sunny day and a beautiful park for once? Why dealing with the other side always meant darkness and goose bumps and this feeling like you've been watched by someone invisible? It was simply beyond her.

Their faces looked weird and rather creepy in the flickering light, which also caused strangely formed shadows dancing on the walls and the ceiling. But despite all gravity of the situation Bela suddenly felt a wish to giggle, and had to bite her lip to resist it. Nerves, she told herself. All these spider-webs all over the place and a couple hundred dead people around made her feel slightly anxious. Not to mention all this ritual thing in general.

"Let's try the…" Sam started in a whisper as if the sound of his voice could actually disturb the corpses. Cleared his throat and finished louder, "the easier way." And added when Bela arched her brows in silent _What?_ "Try to… um, wish for Dean to come back."

She snorted but it was quiet enough for Sam and Bobby to miss it. _Wish for Dean to come back,_ she mimicked him mentally. Did he really think that it was something like making a wish on blowing the candles on a birthday cake? Or like she had a magic wand and only needed to wave it slightly for her wish to come true.

"Okay," Bela drawled. Looked at Bobby and Sam in turns – wanted to roll her eyes at their so obviously expecting expressions. "I want Dean Winchester to come back from hell." All three of them held their breath, but nothing happened. Of course. "You didn't really expect anything, did you?" Paused. "Plan B?"

"Well…" Sam and Bobby exchanged disappointed look, and Bela nearly laughed – they really waited for Dean to appear out of thin air? Ridiculous! Even assuming their sphere of… hm, _business_. "Let's do it once again." Almost with a plea. "Just… concentrate this time. Maybe you should close your eyes or something?"

Bela hemmed skeptically, huffed in frustration, more for show than anything else. But it was still a waste of time unless they had a better plan. Honestly, she didn't believe even for a moment that it could actually lead somewhere. She wanted to help, really wished she could do something – even though there was no need for Sam and Bobby to know it. But _this_? C'mon! Okay, she knew that ghosts, and demons, and psychics were real – met them all once or twice in her past, and it was fine. After all they were part of her business – nonexistent business, Bela reminded herself. But she couldn't make herself start thinking that she was one of them from now on!

But she did what Sam offered nonetheless. Closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to clear her mind. Tried to forget about the glances of her companions which were almost as tangible as a touch, and made an attempt to focus on Dean. Oh, as if she wasn't thinking about him every single moment! Bela used the same tick she was using when working with the talking board – tried to attune herself to the energy of the spirits, with the exception that now she had a specific spirit – person? – to look for, which was a serious advantage in this particular case.

It wasn't hard to see Dean's face in her mind, green eyes looking back at her with boyish curiosity and a trademark smirk playing lazily on his lips.

And once she let that flow of memories into her head, the same energy started running through her body like when she was talking to the other side. It felt weird now, without the board, but Bela ignored her emotions in favor of maintaining the contact.

The brightest of all memories came right away. The one from the Maritime Museum party, or from before the party, to be precise. Bela was fully intended to make fun of it back then – have good time, steal the hand, get money and flee without so much as goodbye. Imagined that the brothers would be furious. It had always been like this, nothing new, but still exciting.

But then Dean Winchester came downstairs in that bloody tux looking as uncomfortable and uneasy as one only could… and her heart skipped a beat. Like, _really_! She caught her breath even, totally despite herself. It happened for the first time in years – or maybe for the first time ever – and it left her confused and wondering. Something so different from business, from buying and selling. Something new and… _human_? And when she offered having angry sex – to tease Dean more than anything because it still was fun to piss him off, and also to cover her own unexpected reaction, which seemed to Bela so awkwardly obvious that she simply couldn't leave it like this – he _blushed_! Honest to God blush! It was so sweet, so Dean-unlike. Made her heart jump and start beating twice faster, and it scared her like hell. Like no monster ever did.

Bela smiled softly to herself at the memory not giving a damn about Sam's and Bobby's attention. If – _if!_ – Dean accepted her offer back then, she'd send to hell the party, and Gert with her soft spot for Sam Winchester, and a hand of glory, and this damn lot of money she planned to get for it. She'd send to hell the whole world without hesitation!

The thought amused Bela, although it was sad amusement. She was like a school girl who kept getting on the boy's nerves like it was the best way to show him that she wasn't indifferent. Well, maybe she had gone too far with Gordon, should have called and warned them after all. It was probably too harsh even for her. This maniac could have really killed them. But she didn't mean to be a real enemy to the Winchesters, didn't mean to harm them in any way. What she really wanted was companionship, friendship… and a chance for something else. Or a hint for a chance. And Bela was showing it the best way she could, not that she had any experience in such things.

But then there was _the first thing I'm gonna do is kill you_; _you make me sick_ with so much hatred that it felt like a solid punch in the gut; and _if you would just come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could have taken the colt and saved you_… Consequences of her mistakes, more killing than a shot in the heart.

It squeezed her lungs, formed a burning lump in her throat. Bela's eyes flew open, she made several sharp intakes of breath.

"I can't do it," she announced with panic, caused by who knew what. Perhaps it was actual inability to help because – seriously! – she wasn't a psychic or something. Or maybe it was her own reaction to her memories that freaked her out. Probably both. Whatever! Did it matter anyway?

The energy was still running through her entire body. And right now Bela just wanted it to stop. It never felt like this before, not once, and she didn't know what to think about it, except that it was very wrong.

"No, no! You were doing fine!" Sam assured her hurriedly. And, okay, Bela got it that he was seeing what he wanted to see, but this was such an absurd! Starting from the part where she actually was doing nothing.

"Really?" She cocked her head and anything but snapped. "Fine – how?" And then in a whoosh of breath, "This is insane."

The crypt suddenly became too small and stuffy, and Bela felt an immense urge to get out and into fresh air. Fighting the inexplicable dizziness, she made an attempt to concentrate on Sam's voice, which was coming to her like through a thick layer of cotton, or from the distance. Generally, it made no difference.

"Bobby and I… we found this ritual," Bela heard and did her best to process the words in her mind, but the energy seemed to be growing inside of her, a bright whirlpool with images from the past flashing every now and then. Too damn hard to think about anything else. "It's called _The Rising_, or something like that," Sam continued, obviously unaware of her slightly – _ha!_ – distracted state. "We tried to perform it a month ago, right after Dean… was gone, but…" he paused. "But it didn't work because apparently it required some… power, and now with you…" there was no need for him to finish the phrase.

"And you think that I…" Bela began. It was definitely not right that the walls started spinning like some bloody merry-go-round. And could anyone turn off those bright spots flashing before her eyes?

The train of her thought was rudely interrupted by muffled sound coming somewhere from outside. The rustle of leaves, but not the same as moments ago, as if beneath someone's feet although it was impossible to make out footsteps or something.

All three of them whipped their heads towards the entrance. Bela saw out of the corner of her eye that Bobby reached for his gun. She swallowed hard. And, by the way, where was this noise coming from? Oh, right, it was in her head. Brilliant! The strange tension inside of her kept on growing making her suspect that it was going to explode and, truth be told, it worried Bela a lot more than anything else at the moment.

The gate squeaked, and it sounded almost unbearably loud in this stillness and silence. Dark figure appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" A painfully familiar – and a tad annoyed! – voice followed.

Two steps more, and Dean Winchester – in the flesh! – came into light.

Sam gasped and forgot to breathe out, his eyes grew so wide that it was surprising how they didn't pop out of his scull, literary. Bobby dropped his jaw, as well as his gun, which hit the marble floor and slid away to the wall.

"Fuck, this headache is killing," Dean complained with a wince. "Can anyone tell me why am I having it anyway?" He looked at Sam, obviously expecting to hear an answer, but then his gaze slid past his still stunned brother and fixed on Bela who stood at the tomb gawking at him pretty dumbly, maybe even with her mouth open, but not quite caring about it. Dean nearly choked on a stumble and narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is this thieving bitch doing here?!" He anything but bellowed and pointed his finger at her, all manners as always.

Dignity still somewhere there, Bela scowled – through the rush of relief and unjustified happiness though. Didn't bother to think about _how_ right now. "Manners, Dean! This _bitch_," she mimicked him with a huff, "has just dragger your worthless ass out of the hell pit!" _If the most stupid theory in the world really works_, she added mentally. "Oh, but don't mention it!"

She made a small step forward to keep her balance when another wave of dizziness covered her, and then everything suddenly went black before her eyes. The last thing she saw before passing out was Dean's quickly approaching and overly confused face.

* * *

**To be continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note**: Thanks everyone for reviews and support :)) It's a pleasure to know that you're interested, really :)) Hope you're going to like this one!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

The sleep – or faint actually… _whatever_, really! – softened Bela's features, made her look relaxed, peaceful even. And strangely exhausted, too.

He was sitting on the chair and watching her lying on the couch in Bobby's living room. As far as he knew, she didn't so much as moved since they arrived here a couple of hours ago. And, as far as he knew, it was probably the first time he saw her with guards down. Wasn't even sure it could be possible. Well, had he known that to see something human in Bela Talbot one should knock her out first, he'd most likely do it a long time ago. Out of curiosity more than anything.

His eyes fixed on her face, noted unfamiliar tiredness, dark circles under her eyes. A crease between her brows. And only God knew how he resisted an urge to reach his hand out and smooth it, brush soft curls away from her forehead. Been feeling it ever since picking her in his arms in the bloody crypt. It, and overwhelming awkwardness. And what else he could do? Let her fall? Well, he could but… The moment that stilled in time. Inexplicable reaction. Something that made him feel ashamed. Dean froze to the chair as if one small movement could have shattered everything into pieces.

Sam came up to him, passed a bottle of beer to Dean and took a seat next to him, now they were both peering at Bela.

"Can't believe that the shit you told me is real," Dean broke the silence after a while, took a good sip from his bottle.

"You tell me that," Sam chuckled. "But how else can you explain being here?"

"Hard to say anything against that," Dean admitted and gave a bottle in his hand a long and thoughtful look as if expecting to see an answer inside of it.

"You okay, man?"

"Dude, you're asking me that for what? A _billionth_ time already?" On a snort. "I'm perfect!" _I'm alive, that pretty much covers everything_.

"Sorry, Dean, it's just… you know the feeling when you want something so much you think you'd go crazy if you don't get it right away and when you finally get it you don't know how to react properly?" Sam shook his head in response to Dean's puzzled _huh?_ "I'm happy to have you back."

"Happy to be back too, Sammy." A bit awkwardly. "Can't even begin to say how happy I am." Dean paused, and then, "And I'm glad to find you in one piece, too. Honestly, when it happened and I saw you, and Bobby, I… there was a moment when I thought you two did something stupid." Another pause, and he added on a shrug and under his breath, "Made a deal or something."

Sam shrugged too, not looking at Dean. "They wouldn't agree."

Dean choked, snapped his head up, his eyes flaring with fury now, and gripped the neck of his bottle so firmly that his knuckles grew unnaturally white. "What?! Jesus, Sam! What did you do?"

"Nothing," he replied simply.

"Thank God! What were you thinking?"

"Saving your ass, Dean!" Sam exclaimed but lowered his voice immediately on a cautious sidelong glance although Bela didn't seem to really care. "Good enough reason for me."

None of them spoke for a while. Strange moment, as if they were debating if it made sense to try and prove who of them deserved being alive. Not that there was a chance to come to an agreement anyway. Not that there could be an answer.

"So," Sam started. Paused. Cleared his throat and took a sip from his own bottle. "You just appeared in that cemetery, Dean? Just… like that?"

They've been through this already, Dean thought. Without satisfying result though. Without _any_ result. Weird truth was that he really _appeared_. Absolutely unharmed, although they both knew that hellhounds ripped him nearly into pieces. Crazy…

"Uh-huh, just like that, if you can say so about coming from the other side. Didn't friggin' fly there through the night sky for sure," he smirked and then frowned. "Tell me, Sammy, you seriously think _she_ did it?" On a nod towards Bela. "Because that's… um, you know…"

"Uh-huh," Sam nodded distractedly. "Dunno, man, really. Not that I can explain it any other way either. But you're here now."

"There's gotta be a trick." Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously, tilted his head to one shoulder, then to the other as if searching for a proper angle to look at Bela, like if he found one he'd see something new.

"What trick?"

"It's Bela, dude! _Everything_ is a trick about her. We gotta find out what is it this time."

"Dean…"

"No, I'm serious, Sam! I don't want to own anything to that bitch, least of all my life. And I'm done with surprises."

"She's been to hell, Dean. Don't you think it sort of changes… things?"

"Are we still talking about Bela or did I miss something?"

"She kinda helped you, man."

"That's still questionable," Dean objected dryly and with dark determination. "Did she pay you to be her lawyer or what?"

"Whatever," Sam muttered, and then after a short hesitation, "Dean, Bela said that she didn't remember a thing from… _there_. Do you?" The words slipped out of his mouth as if on the will of their own, before Sam actually realized _what_ he was asking. He bit his tongue but it was too lade. Damn his curiosity!

Heavy silence hang in the room for what seemed like an eternity making Sam wish he's thought first before saying something like that out loud. He wanted to know. Had to know! But maybe it was a better idea to wait till Dean was willing to talk about it, or…

"No," Dean answered at last, staring into nowhere. He rubbed his face – a tried gesture, although not exactly physically tired, more _world-weary_, speaking of that. There were screams of pain that flashed inside of his head, but these were not memories in ordinary understanding. Whenever he saw or heard them in his mind, he had a feeling that he was looking at this all from aside, or from above. So it wasn't a lie when he said _No_. Just not the whole truth. "Not a thing, Sammy." Not that he wanted to talk about it now. Not until he made it clear for himself anyway.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…"

But Dean only waved his hand like _it's okay_ and finished his beer in one big gulp.

"How the things been going here?" He asked somewhat matter-of-factly, almost indifferently, in the exact same tone he'd use if he asked about weather forecast or political news, or whatever else he didn't really care about.

"What do you mean?"

"Demons. Other stuff."

"Do you think anything can ever change about it?" Sam's grin was bitter.

Truth was, he sort of stayed out of business most of time. Didn't give a shit about anything but saving his brother and must have missed a thing or two. Knew that monsters in the closets still were a harsh reality and that Lilith still was somewhere out there, but hadn't had a pleasure of encounter, as much as he'd like to.

"Right," Dean scoffed. Got up to see feet. "Some things never change. Where's Bobby by the way?" The longer he stayed around Bela – very much asleep Bela, thank God – the more stupid he felt… because of what he felt. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to escape for a while.

"Huh?" The question pulled Sam out of his own thoughts. "In the back yard, I guess. He wanted to check the engine of his truck."

"Gonna go check on my baby then," Dean flashed a smile at him. "Bet she was missing me."

"More than anyone," Sam smiled back. He still had serious problems with believing that this nightmare was finally over. Well, at least Dean was alive and it was the most important. As for the rest… they'd handle it like they always did.

"If I find a CD-player there, Sammy, you're dead," Dean warned him. "I mean it." Gave another studying look to the couch. "Maybe we should tie her or something? What do you think?"

"You touch me, Dean," Bela moaned all of a sudden, giving them both a start, "and I'll break your arm." Paused. "Or both. God, why my head feels so unnaturally big?" She groaned and reached her hand for it obviously wishing to make sure that her head was still where it was meant to be.

Dean and Sam exchanged surprised looks. Car forgotten for a while, Dean came up to the couch and looked down at her. "Look, our little sleeping beauty woke up, and we didn't even have to kiss you."

"Kiss the frog," Bela croaked. She shifted slightly on the couch which was a tad short for her to lie stretched, and kicked Dean on the knee accidentally. Or not so accidentally.

"Ouch!" He winced and scowled. "You saw that, Sam? She did it on purpose!"

"Did what?" Bela finally opened her eyes, made an attempt to raise her head but slumped back into the cushion almost immediately on realization that it wasn't the best idea. "What happened?" Tried to ignore that crazy hammering of her heart against her ribs at the sight of Dean Winchester – alive Dean Winchester, see the difference! – and feeling strangely relieved, like _Thank God, he's okay_, even despite his not so welcoming glare.

"Oh, no, don't drag me into this, Dean!" Sam leaned over Bela. "How are you feeling?"

"What do you think?" She grimaced. "Can anyone bring me Tylenol, please?" _Or my head will explode here and now_.

_No way_, Dean said only with his lips still rubbing on his knee. For show, Sam guessed. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Weighed pros and cons of leaving Dean and Bela alone in the room for a couple of minutes and headed into the kitchen when it turned out that he had no other choice. Gave Dean a waning look on leaving nonetheless, and received insulted _Me? Never!_ expression in reply.

Sam's footsteps faded in the corridor.

Bela finally took an upright position and… And maybe it was better if Sam stayed. Her headache wasn't that bad, only close to driving her crazy but that suddenly seemed okay. The room suddenly seemed too little for her and Dean to stay there at the same time.

"You… okay, Dean?" She asked to break the silence when she couldn't stand it any longer. Fought to look and speak casually. Like nothing happened, Bela added in her mind. He didn't start shouting or something right away, and it was good. But he was looking anywhere but at her, and it was bad.

"Oh, like you care!" Dean's short laugh was artificial, lacked any amusement and sounded more like a bark. "_Please!_"

"Just asked."

"_Just asked_," he mimicked her in a squeaky, high-pitched girlish voice accompanied by a poor imitation of her British accent.

Bela frowned feeling that temper started growing inside of her. She tried to be nice after all! Not that she expected him to appreciate it but…

"Damn it, what's your problem, Dean?"

"My problem? _You_ are my problem!"

Bela gasped. Happy? Ha! He might as well go back, she wouldn't give a shit! Couldn't believe she actually cared. Waste of time!

"You wanted to go somewhere?" Upon recalling the end of conversation that she got through her half-daze. "Go!" _God, help me_.

"Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me this damn exciting story of yours. And this time I wanna hear the whole truth."

Bela closed her eyes. Rubbed the bridge of her nose. Opened them again and met Dean's, even managed to hold them. "What truth?"

"The real one for once would be nice. What is all this friggin' show about?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam and Bobby, part two, renewed and improved. Made her wonder if he was planning to use some torture on her to hear what he _wanted_ to hear. Doubted that the truth would work. He didn't look like he'd accept it. He was determined not to.

"How are you doing this, Bela? I mean if you really do something. But if you do… Seriously, what's the angle this time? Do something good and charge us later or what?"

Dizziness and headache forgotten, Bela was on her feet on an instant and right before Dean, eyes flaring with outrage and fists balled. Obviously it wasn't just a metaphor about wishing for someone's blood – right at the moment she was a second away from seeing Dean's.

"What do you want to hear from me, Dean? No, really, tell me!"

They glared at each other, barely a foot apart now.

"Whatever crap you might come up with this time," Dean hissed. "Idle curiosity."

"Hey, Bela, here's your…" Sam entered the room and froze in the doorway, "… pill," he finished after a pause, but neither Dean, nor Bela seemed to notice him. "Am I interrupting something?" No answer followed. "I'll leave it here then, okay?" Sam put a bottle with Tylenol pills and a glass of water onto the table. Debated checking on Bobby but a wish to enjoy the show – and supposedly prevent a cold-blooded murder – won.

"Go to hell with your curiosity," Bela snapped.

"Right after you, sweetheart!" He singsonged back, and she suspected that he wanted it to sound like he was offering a honeymoon on Hawaii.

"Wanna have another round of a journey?" Cocked her head and batter eyelashes at him for good measure. Practically heard him gritting his teeth. Good start! Right from where they left it.

And, okay, Bela knew that it was leading them nowhere. Not exactly the conversation she hoped for, although she had to admit that his reaction was justified. They were two bloody morons after all, assuming that they let it go this far, all being dead and undead and… Ugh! So, she decided to be a wiser one. Took a breath in a pretty ineffective attempt to calm herself down and made a small step back, eyes never leaving his face, like giving up and surrendering but still with all dignity she still had, if these pitiful breadcrumbs could be called dignity. But _whatever_!

"Listen, Dean, I'm sorry…" she started softer, hopefully not with that terrible plea that she thought she heard in her own voice because if it could get more humiliating, she couldn't see how. "About the colt and everything. I admit it was…"

"Oh, you're sorry, Bela? Really? Wow! Let me memorize the moment!"

"Dean…"

"You know what? You fucked up everything we did in years!" He cut her off, voice cold as ice. "And don't you dare tell me you're sorry or feed me other freaking shit. You must have had a reason to сome _here_ and I wanna know it before you messed everything up once again."

"What reasons? I have no idea how I got here. And I'm dead to the world for God's sake!"

"Well, join the club!" Dean snorted.

"It's not the same!" She snapped. "I had home. I had legal life. I _existed_, unlike you! And I've lost it all!"

"Oh, come on! We both know that you had _legal_ life, or whatever you call it, only because some people didn't know where to look." He rolled his eyes. "And really, Bela, is that what you can brag about? Life built on blood of other people? Nice! Not that I expected anything else, not from you at least, but you're killing me."

Bela froze, and time stopped. It felt like a punch in the gut. All she could see, and feel, and hear for one very long moment that lasted forever was intense gaze of Dean's green eyes, like an X-ray that could see right through her, and thudding of her own heart. And then there was loss, and pain that was eating her alive, and a wish – honest to God wish! – to die again. And it was probably too much to keep her cool and control her emotions properly. She knew that she let them slip because something changed about Dean's face, which definitely was a response to something that obviously changed about hers.

Dean knew right away that it was a wrong this to say. Direct hit. Right into the heart by the looks of it. She stilled, even paled a little. And it if was just a game, Bela definitely deserved Oskar. But she hurt him too much – as much as Dean hated admitting it even to himself. Made him feel like a fool for trusting her till the end, and now that he'd gone this far, there was no turning back.

"You know nothing about me to judge." Her eyes turned from bright green to deep blue, cold as North Atlantic in the storm, and as furious, voice ringing with bitter determination.

"What? Even more dark little secrets?" He mocked as if he couldn't control it or something. "How's that even possible?"

When Bobby came into the room almost an hour later wiping car oil off his hands with a grey cloth, the heat of a fight was still growing. His brows shot up in pure amazement when he spotted Sam sitting in the deep leather chair in the corner buried in a book and not giving a damn about that awful noise.

"What's going on here?" Bobby asked him quietly although it was highly doubtful that anyone would notice even if he shouted in the full voice, and wondered how it happened that he didn't hear the whole conversation from outside. "What is this all about?"

"This?" Sam raised his head from yellowish page and looked thoughtfully at his brother and Bela. "Honestly, I've lost the train of their sweet talk half an hour ago, Bobby. Bet they did it even before me."

"… so you what, divide all people in _profitable_ and _non-profitable_? Charming!"

Dean's response to whatever Bela said captured Bobby's attention for a moment. He hemmed, and shifted his attention to the book in Sam's lap. "What are you looking for?"

Sam sighed, rubbed on his eyes wearily. "Want to make sure that hellhounds won't come after Dean when Lilith and her squad find out that he's alive. Now that he'd back I'm afraid it will be hard to hide it for long." He paused. "Do you think we can consider Dean's deal broken? Technically speaking, there was nothing said about coming back."

"I'm not that good at hell laws," Bobby snorted. "But I know…"

"They are your bloody family, Dean!" Bela bellowed, pointed her finger at Bobby and Sam in turns for emphasis. China set that once belonged to Bobby's wife clicked softly in the cupboard. Sam and Bobby started and fell silent against themselves. "Whereas I am all on my own!"

"I remember you being so freaking proud of that!" He shot back. "Anything changed?"

"You know what? I really wish I knew how I did… whatever I did – if I really did it – because in that case I'd probably know how to reverse the process and send you back!" She snapped. "And I assure you, Dean, I'd do it without hesitation!"

At this she stomped out of the room and upstairs and slammed the door to her room so hard that several pieces of whitewash peeled off the ceiling and landed right onto the Sam's open book followed by Bobby's gaze.

"Friggin' bitch!" Dean muttered through clenched teeth. "Swear to God, they have the lousiest security system there in hell ever!" Not addressing anyone in particular, and then turned to face his brother and Bobby. "I admit it that they let her out wishing to get rid of her, but where does that leave us?!" Rolled his eyes, all _there's no justice in the bloody world_ and left on a huff. Slammed the screen door behind him, happily without any damage.

Sam and Bobby looked at each other. Sam cleared his throat. "So, you were saying?"

"What?" Bobby blinked. "Oh, right! I know one place where we can find all the news and rumors. Listen to people talking."

"Good idea!" Sam slammed the book and put it away, stretched himself wincing at the sound of his bones cracking from long sitting. "The sooner we do it, the better."

Bobby got to his feet, too. "Um, Sam, do you think it's a good idea to leave the two of them here all alone?" Pointed his finger at the ceiling as if his question needed specification.

"They have to work it out somehow," Sam shrugged. "And if you're asking me, we better stay out of the firing line until they are done."

Bobby grabbed his jacket, checked on his gun and followed Sam outside. Smiled at the sound of Dean talking to his car in the backyard and shook his head. Some things never change.

"Why so sudden change of heart, Sam? Several hours ago you were a step away from killing Bela with you bare hands."

"Better let Dean do the dirty job," Sam grinned.

"Sounds like you know something that I don't," Bobby noticed curiously and obviously expecting for an explanation.

Sam got into the car. "I made a research on Bela," he confessed in a low voice as if not wishing to be overheard. "I know some things that Dean doesn't. The things he should find out from her, not me. Other than that… Dean's back. I don't care much about the rest. His private life is _the rest_."

Bobby nodded, clearly not getting what he was talking about, but no further questions followed. Except for… "Back there in my living room, did you see what I saw?"

"Yep."

***

Bela was sitting on the bed in her room – oh, God, and when did she start thinking about this place as _hers_? – with her back leaned against the wall, legs crossed and arms folded on the chest, fuming for hours about how she hated men, and stupid hunters in general, and one dolt particularly. Deaf, and blind, and stubborn idiot! Ungrateful jerk! Couldn't see an inch before his nose!

She huffed loudly and glared furiously at the closed door, the only barrier between her and this moron, as if seriously intending to turn it into ashes. And then turned away with a snort, stared out the window instead.

Darkness fell several hours ago but Bela didn't care much about time. Wasn't going to go out any time soon anyway. Or ever, she added mentally, and pretty darkly, too. Depends. Which was a hell of a challenge for the one who had nowhere to go, she thought with frustration. Caught glimpses of twinkling stars in the pitch black sky and felt a small hint of self-pity. Something that she generally tried to avoid because it was too much luxury, and because normally she didn't have time for such things. In her past life at least.

It wasn't a bad idea to try and fall asleep and finally stop this useless thinking about the things that didn't matter any more. And she really tried to do it, but it didn't seem to work. First of all, her two days sleep kind of ruled it out. Other than that she – believe it or not – was scared to fall asleep not quite sure she'd wake up. Who knew?

Besides, there were so many things on her mind… Bela thought her head was a moment away from actually exploding. Couldn't believe that Dean had practically said it out loud that he'd rather stay in hell and suffer from eternal damnation than accept help from her! Oh, Lord, and what could she do about this? How on earth she was supposed to finally tell him – now that she had a chance and it seemed sort of ridiculous to lose it once again – all these things that were on her mind, like that he was the only reason why she wanted to become a better person? The only one who made her look at things differently. The only one who made her believe in… well, something that she considered was nothing but crap for her entire life. The one who actually _mattered_…

And, oh , it was such a bad idea to even start thinking about it! Obviously, he'd laugh her in the face the next moment she opened her mouth. She would probably have to shoot him to cope with humiliation… okay, she didn't mean the last one. Not really.

It was so quiet that Bela suddenly caught herself on the thought that she could clearly hear her own breath and heartbeat. No squeaks and rustles. The whole house went still as if someone took a remote control and pushed mute button turning the sound off. So unnatural that she even shivered despite herself. It felt like she was the only living creature in the whole world.

Sam and Bobby were gone. She heard them driving away hours ago and they hadn't come back yet. Dean wasn't. Bela had a _pleasure_ of listening to him whistling softly to himself in the backyard where she knew the Impala – his pride and beauty – was parked. Heard him walking around the first floor some time later, too. The sound of the fridge door open and close was unmistakable. But her mind must have switched off to the outer world shortly after that. So if he was gone – which, truthfully, wouldn't surprise her – she missed it entirely.

The thought struck Bela, this unexpected and so far unjustified fear of staying all alone. Not that she needed a company or something – wasn't a good company herself – but…

Oh…

She got up from the bed. Looked down at her sweatpants and a t-shirt she decided to use for sleep and regretted she didn't have a housecoat or something. Debated changing back into her jeans. But, well, who cared after all? She just wanted to check on him, make sure he was okay… one way or another. And it had nothing to do with her own childish fears, and purely selfish strive for company, and all that crap that crept into her mind and got stuck there.

Bela went out into the corridor.

The silence was nearly ringing in her ears. She swallowed hard, looked around but there were only black shadows in the corners. Nothing else. Her footsteps were soundless on the old wood floor.

Wasted time. Missed opportunities. Mistakes. Oh, damn it!

Bela came up to the door in the far end of the corridor, took a deep breath like before jumping into the water and pushed it open…

* * *

**To be continued… **

Curious?

/Reviews are love :)))


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note**: Yeah, changed summary a bit. Never liked the old one much.

Warning! A LOT of [emotional] fluff ahead! Nothing quite graphic… yet, although I'd rate it T for safety. Just in case :))

Anyway, dig in!

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**Chapter 6**

Dean was lying flat on the back on a narrow single bed, more a cot by the looks of it, which didn't seem to be as comfortable as Bela's double one. Besides, it looked strangely out of place in the room that definitely wasn't a bedroom. A study maybe, or something like that, if two massive bookshelves along one of the walls were any indication.

Bela paused in the doorway – needed a moment or two to resist an urge to flee so that she could pretend that she didn't come here at all – and then made her way in. Just to make sure he was fine, nothing more than that, she told herself. Probably the lamest excuse she could have ever come up with but all the same it sounded better than admitting her own fear and anxiety.

Dean wasn't asleep. In the back of her mind Bela knew he wouldn't be so it wasn't really surprising. She could practically feel it. Feel him watching her slow approach. His face stayed in the shadow and she couldn't see it whereas she was lit from head to toe with the moonlight streaming through small window, which made her feel a tad uncomfortable. A wish to flee was back, but a wish to stay was stronger, now that she made it this far anyway.

He moved slightly aside, closer to the wall when she came up to make some room for her. Bela lowered herself slowly onto the very edge of the cot, somewhere near Dean's hip, half-turned to him, one leg tucked underneath her butt. Felt the warmth of his body even without actual touch.

Walking down the corridor Bela feared not to find him here. Couldn't help but wonder what she'd do if he told her to get out, or use this _shoot first, ask questions later_ thing. But he was here, and he didn't asked her to leave, and he didn't have a gun pointed at her, and what was the most important – it had been about a minute since she came in and they weren't shouting at each other yet. Bela took it as a good sign. Hoped it wasn't a trick or something.

"I couldn't sleep," she said quietly, barely above whisper. Hoped it sounded like offering a peace – the way she wanted it to sound, like _I couldn't sleep_ actually meant _I don't want to fight. Can we not, please?_ – and not like a whine or complaint. Hoped it didn't sound too hysterical or panicky either because the truth was she was scared like hell, and tired of so many things, like running away, or denying the obvious, and Dean Winchester was probably the only person in the whole wide world who came anywhere close to understanding her.

The last thought made Bela wonder if he was feeling something like that about her, too.

She looked down at her hands clenched on her lap, and then into the darkness where his face was supposed to be. Wanted to see him so bad. Feeling wasn't enough, apparently.

Dean grunted something under his breath, a mixture of a snort and a scoff, in acknowledgement of hearing her. He was ready for a truce too, now that several hours had passed and the storm inside of his head caused by their fight and the whole _coming-back-to-life_ thing had ebbed. Staring aimlessly at the ceiling helped him to cool down and think things through. Not that it helped in making these things more clear, there were still too many questions left… but he was planning on offering a truce himself nonetheless. And the fact that she did it first pleased him more than he was ready to admit even to himself. Which was probably one of the most embarrassing things he'd ever felt in life.

"Where are Sam and Bobby?" Bela asked after a while, out of wish to say something and finally end the silence.

It wasn't uncomfortable or uneasy – not really – but without some kind of contact she started feeling that he was slipping away. Never thought that _here and yet so far_ could be so real. And, okay, it was a stupid thing to ask because, truth be told, right at the moment Bela couldn't care less for whereabouts of Dean's brother and Bobby but it was the best thing that came to her mind. What else could she ask? How was the weather in hell when you were leaving? Gee!

"Since when do you need them around to have a good sleep?" Dean smirked.

And, oh, it was a very bad idea. Generally, bantering was okay. It was safe, a familiar territory if you please, and practically it was the way of their communication. Generally, Bela never minded exchanging sarcastic shots with Dean Winchester. But not now. Not when she was an emotional mess. It irked her for no good reason, made her cringe, even past the relief of hearing his voice at last. Only God knew _what_ she expected when she came to his room in the middle of the night, but whatever it was, it wasn't _this_.

"Go to hell!" She anything but snapped in annoyance, fully intended to leave right away. Bad wording, okay, and she didn't mean it, not literary, but c'mon! It was a mistake to come here, a very big mistake.

Dean caught her by the arm when Bela made an attempt to stand up though, forced her to stay sitting. "Wait. Sorry," in a whoosh of breath as if it was something embarrassing to say. Or maybe he wasn't sure whether he wanted her to hear him, Bela thought. "Don't go," which sounded to her better than anything that he ever had said to her before. And then, after a pause, "Wasn't quite sleepy myself," like an apology.

Of course! How could he? How could anyone? Only hours away from… oh, she couldn't even identify it in her head.

Dean's hand lingered on her arm a little longer than necessary. Technically speaking he could have let it go on instant – Bela wondered if asking her to stay was some kind of impulse which he had no idea what to do with now, and she even anticipated him to jerk his hand away once he realized what he did, what he _said_ – but he didn't causing her to catch her breath and swallow hard. Her stomach flopped violently. She heard him catch his too at the sound of sharp intake of hers, and still he wasn't keen on leaving. Instead, his fingers slipped down her wrist, slowly, like a cautious retreat, leaving a burning trail on her skin.

Bela looked down at her hand seriously expecting it to glow in the dark. Not that there was anything left in the world that could have surprised her anyway.

Made another attempt to see his face in the blackness trying to decipher that mixed signal in her mind, which didn't seem to really work one way or another now that her aforementioned mind was on fire for at least one million of reasons. The touch didn't feel _scared_ exactly, but _confused_ – yes, and maybe _lonely_, too. Oh, Lord, it was so damn easy to misinterpret things, see them the way she wanted to see them. The way she _needed_ to see them.

"I didn't mean it, Dean," she breathed out in a _now or never_ way.

"What?"

There was no need to see him – as much as she'd like to – to feel that he blinked pretty dumbly as if she said something extremely stupid in the middle of an extremely serious and meaningful conversation. Well, the good thing was that at least she wasn't alone in this _feeling-stupid_ train. And the bad thing was that she didn't feel like repeating the things that were uncomfortable to say even once.

"When I said I'd send you back to hell if I could…" Bela paused and took a breath when it suddenly turned out that there was no air left in her lungs. It didn't seem to help much though. "I didn't mean it. Didn't mean it to sound like this." Another pause. "I would never do it."

"Is that a threat?" Dean scoffed, and probably rolled his eyes. At least Bela didn't have problems with imagining it. And then in entirely another voice, "So you… you really don't know how you did it, Bela?" Curiously, she noted, good-naturedly even, without accusation or suspicion. So, he wasn't mad at her or something, she figured. He didn't sound insulting, and she dared to take it like they weren't exactly enemies at the moment. Or anymore, generally.

"No," she shook her head. And seriously, if she were getting paid every time she had to answer that question, she'd probably have a good start capital for her new life by now. She wanted to add that she wasn't even sure that she did anything – because, hey, they couldn't prove it somehow, right? - but even thinking about getting into her own half-guesses all over again made her feel sick. Not now. "Bobby said it has something to do with my _wishing_, which is… oh, so crazy!" She added with a short and nervous laugh.

"And you can… you know, bring back _anyone_?"

There was something more than simple curiosity behind the question, which made Bela bite a quick reply – an ironic one – that nearly slipped out of her mouth. She could have sworn that he even held his breath in anticipation of an answer. Did he miss the part about _crazy_?

"I don't know, Dean," she said in a small voice fully aware of his disappointment. He didn't sigh or anything, but it was so tangible that she felt it anyway. "I… have to really want it. Something like that. Which, okay, I admit could have worked with me. But you? Ruins the whole theory." Bela snorted but lightly enough so that he'd get that she was teasing, bringing them back to where the communication was easy.

Dean chuckled quietly. "Oh, now we know about your little secret desires, Bela," in the exact same tone that she used.

The sound of his deep voice made her tingle. Made her lose her breath even, which was so damn untimely, really. One more think to think – read _worry_ – about. Oh, like she didn't have enough of them already! Bela blamed it on… on something – anything! – that didn't have to do with feelings or other ridiculous crap.

In a sudden rush of confidence she wanted to ask who he wanted to bring back if he could. Wanted to know something about him that no files contained and no money could buy. Parents, she guessed. Knew that their death was far from peaceful and painless. Or maybe someone else from the past. Someone she didn't know about. Someone he probably deeply cared for. Made her realize once again how little she knew about him. Almost nothing. But then… did she want to know? Did she want to bring him through this if there was hardly any hope? If it was only going to cause more pain. Bela wasn't sure she could stand listening to his confessions and then say – _it was a nice story but, sorry, I can't do anything about it_. Didn't want to be mean or pathetic.

Her hair was clumped into a tail by an elastic band. Dean reached his hand out when she least expected it and pulled it off letting her hair down, threw it unceremoniously somewhere into the darkness. His fingers ran gently through soft curls.

"I like it better this way," he said, and whatever it meant there was a smile in his voice.

Bela shook her head to let her hair settle.

Too much affection. Too much something she wasn't ready for. And it was right about time to scram, and everything inside of her screamed for it, but she didn't move. Nothing moved except for her heart that started a riotous dance in her chest. She shifted on the place, out of wish to make sure that she still belonged to herself more than anything, to make sure that his hypnotizing gaze didn't paralyze her. The gaze she couldn't even see.

"I swear to God I have no idea what is it, Dean, or why it happened to me. Or what am I supposed to do about it now," she dropped her eyes and felt that her lips curved into a bitter smile on the will of their own. "It doesn't feel comfortable to know that I turned into some psychic freak, you see."

"Welcome to my world, Bela," he sighed.

She whipped her head round, peered into the darkness wishing like hell for a bit of light. Groped around the blanket but his hand was gone.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," his chuckle was soft, and bitter too.

His fingers brushed softly against her wrist again sending electric charges through her body.

"Dean…" Bela swallowed hard feeling that her mouth suddenly went dry and her throat clogged.

No, _this_ was right about time to get out of here! She was a total mess and she needed to pull herself together. On her own. No witnesses required, thank you! Couldn't let herself fall apart in front of Dean. Couldn't be horrible enough to make him deal with a hurricane named _nervous breakdown of_ _Bela Talbot_. What was she thinking when she came here? Well, nothing but… The room was too small, and Dean was too close – closer than she ever though he could be, and she was a step away from actually hyperventilating. And what? _Crying_? Oh, God!

She wanted to get to her feet and run out of the room, out of the house, as far as she only could. But instead she let him pull her down to him with the only thought throbbing in her mind – the cot was too narrow for the two of them. But then Dean was all around her wiping all thoughts out of her mind. His arms were holding her firmly, and Bela could feel the heat of his chest against her back through thin fabric of their clothes. His breath was tickling her ear, and it felt so safe, so secure, so strangely right that she inched surreptitiously backwards into the warmth of his embrace, literary making Dean tighten his grip on her.

And it wasn't an advance or something like that. Not even anywhere close. It was a desperate need to end this everlasting loneliness that both of them lived in for so long. Just for now, for this time only. For the moment that seemed to float in time. None of them dared to hope for something else. And Bela had no idea which of them needed it more. Didn't want to think about it either. He was so close that she could practically feel his heartbeat. Or maybe she only imagined it because she needed to feel it. Slow and steady, unlike hers, fast and uneven.

She took a sharp, convulsive breath, and Dean responded to it with a soft sigh of his own, so unexpectedly perceptive. She didn't want him to see her like this. Didn't even think she could be like this because up to this moment Bela seriously thought that she was doing fine with keeping her cool and pretending that it was nothing more than a simple friendly visit, if you please. The thought nearly made her laugh out loud. Apparently she was wrong.

His hand ran up and down her arm in a soothing gesture, gentle and feather light.

"It's sorta cool, ya know," Dean whispered right into her ear.

"What?"

"Well, that… thing that you can do. Like, _really_ cool."

"Oh, God!" The wish to laugh hysterically was back. "I have no idea how to live with it… Wanna trade places, Dean? No, seriously, I would really appreciate it if you helped me to get rid of this headache."

"Last time I checked, that _headache_ of yours was pretty handy," he objected.

"Don't take it personally, but last time I checked it nearly killed me," Bela grouched, strangely relieved by the fact that she was capable of something but whining.

"Mighta liked being a damsel in distress for a change," he chuckled into her hair.

Bela couldn't resist a small smile. "Enjoyed the show?" She asked coquettishly.

"Definitely."

Perhaps she was too tired for straight and intelligent thinking. Perhaps it was the warmth of Dean's body that eased the tension inside of her and lulled Bela in some kind of half-daze, and created that strange moment of closeness. Or maybe it was just darkness that suddenly seemed so appropriate for heart-to-heart conversations and sharing secrets as if talking in low voices when they barely saw each other could actually change things. Whatever it was, Bela blamed this moment on it entirely.

"Dean? Do you remember anything from there?" She asked barely audibly. "Do you remember… _anything_?"

The pause was long. Bela listened to his deep breath – could feel it on her neck. Didn't miss the moment when he strained himself, and went completely still too, cursing herself mentally for not biting her tongue. Realized somewhat belatedly that she'd probably pitch off the bloody cot if Dean pulled back. And okay, it wasn't falling to the floor that bothered her most, although the prospect didn't look tempting. She didn't want him to pull away, one way or another, generally. Didn't want his guards up again. Didn't want to cause any more pain than she'd already caused. Didn't want to stay alone once again.

But he didn't pull back, to her surprise. "I… I don't know," he said at last, obviously puzzled. "Guess I have to figure it out to myself." The voice was slightly annoyed but it didn't sound like he was annoyed with her. Probably it was the fact that he couldn't get a straight answer to his question straightway that pissed him off, Bela supposed. "Do you?" In a whoosh of breath, so quiet that she nearly missed it, consumed with her own thoughts.

She tried to shrug, which was an automatic gesture and hardly worked with her being clutched so tight that even breathing was a matter of luck. And, God help her, she enjoyed every moment of it. "Not like this," Bela confessed. "I have no idea if it has something to do with being _there_… but I had a dream. A nightmare actually… Twice. It was so terrible, so awfully real…" She trailed off. New territory, and probably she was going too far. Wasn't planning to be so open, didn't mean to reveal too much. But then again, it might be nothing, right? "I don't remember it. Not really. But both times I woke up in cold sweat as if… as if…"

It wasn't the whole truth though, Bela thought sourly. She _did_ remember some things but they were too terrible to be spoken about. Besides, she was almost sure they were not real because she saw _him_, the one who caused the whole mess a long time ago, and chances were it was just an ordinary nightmare, one of those that she was having in the past all the time, until she learned to block them out of her mind. Well, on the other hand, it wouldn't be surprising if it was a part of her hell in _actual_ hell because what would be worse than living through her worst memories over and over again for the whole eternity?

"I don't know, Dean," she breathed out in what sounded like an extremely miserable voice. Leaned into the touch of his fingers when he brushed hair from her cheek and looped them around her ear. "Can't get rid of the feeling that it is just a dream. Too good to be real." And she wasn't sure if she was talking about living again in general or about this particular moment. "Aside from the part where I don't get anything… I'm alive." Her voice dropped even lower. "Do you think it can be a dream?"

"Whose?" He asked curiously.

"Mine. Yours. Ours." A pause. "Sam's." Bela giggled despite herself. Heard Dean giggle, too. "No, mine definitely. If it was yours or Sam's, I'd be log fed to alligators."

"Aw, come on! We're not that cruel!" He protested, offended. "Alligators are living creatures after all. And we're sorta for green peace."

Bela made an attempt to elbow him into whatever she could reach which only ended in a tighter embrace. Dean laughed softly and nuzzled into her hair. "Whatever it is, it feels too damn real to be some friggin' dream," he mumbled, and she knew on an instant that it was really _something_.

She turned her head – wanted to see him so bad! – and saw nothing. Too dark, too… But his lips were there, soft and warm, kissing her slowly, gently, like tasting her. Dean traced the outline of her mouth and deepened the kiss when Bela parted her lips on a sigh. His fingers slid down her cheek, and then trailed along her arm, and ended up on her stomach burning a stripe of bare skin between the waistband of her sweatpants and the hem of her t-shirt. She angled for more of his touch; realized in the back of her mind that pitching off the cot would be nothing compared to wringing her neck and shifted to make their position more comfortable for both of them.

And then panic came, strong and overwhelming, rushing through her in huge waves burying Bela with half-formed realizations. She didn't mean it to end like this, didn't come here for this. And as much as she didn't mind something like this to happen generally, Bela wasn't sure at the moment that she was capable of dealing with it, or with the consequences.

But before she had time to do anything about it, Dean's hand was gone all of a sudden, and his lips, too, and Bela anything but gasped in disappointment at the lack of contact. He rested his forehead against hers pushing his fingers through her hair giving them both time to take a breath, cope… somehow.

"Dean…"

"It's okay," he whispered like he actually read her mind or something.

It struck Bela as the most terrifying thought ever. She'd rather Dean stayed as far from what she was thinking about as possible. There were too many things on her mind which she had serious problems with admitting even to herself, not to mention someone… who these things referred to, and… Oh, too complicated.

"Bad timing, don't you think?" She whispered back with regret, closed her eyes not at all sure by the second that they made a right decision.

"As good as any other," he objected, his fingers toying with her curls.

Bela reached her hand out, groped for his face wishing she could look in his eyes. Just one look would be enough, only to be sure that he was real because she was having this dream so often that she started confusing dreams with reality. Brushed her hand through his short hair. "How could we let it go this far?"

"Guess we liked the process too much," he offered helpfully.

And maybe it was the best way to ruin the moment – and probably even get herself kicked out of this room, but… "It wasn't about money, Dean."

"What?"

His movements stilled. There was no need to see him to feel his confusion.

"My deal," she breathed out. Doing right things for once, she reminded herself. There was no turning back now that she'd come this far anyway but it didn't mean that it was easy. "It wasn't about money." Wanted to add that it wasn't even anywhere close to money, that she didn't even know she was making the deal because – come on! – little girls with glowing red eyes? She thought it was a trick of light or something. Wanted so much to explain everything, but her tongue had gone numb in her mouth.

"What it was about then?" Dean asked in strained voice. Waited intensely for her answer like it was something that he needed to know more than anything.

But Bela only turned away from him and shook her head into the pillow. "I can't," muffled and unbearably high-pitched. She bit her lower lip and shut her eyes so tight that it started to hurt, fought to ease that tight knot in her chest. Couldn't do it. Couldn't bring herself to voice it. And couldn't let it stay the way it was either. Had to step on her pride for once.

Although, okay, she wasn't so sure that opening up to someone was _the_ right thing, not really. Didn't want to seem weak or vulnerable, or something else that she generally wasn't, at least in the other people's eyes. But it was killing her to know that Dean might be thinking that she was someone who she wasn't. And then again – consequences… One confession could lead to another, could make her say something stupid, like that he was on her mind ever since they met first. That she _cared_. Sort of. That she _needed_ him. In a way. That it was nice just to _know_ that he was alive. That he was the one allowed to see the side of her that she kept locked for everyone else. That he _meant_.

Too many things to deal with at once.

The silence hung think in the air for what seemed like forever. Even breathing felt oddly awkward and not quite right.

And then Dean pulled her close once again, buried his face into her hair and sighed soundly. His hand found hers lying on the pillow near Bela's face and covered it, squeezed it slightly for a moment and let go, but didn't leave.

"It's going to be all right, Bela," he murmured tickling her neck with his breath. "Swear to God, everything's going to be all right eventually."

And she tried to believe that he was telling the truth. Needed so badly to believe. Tried to pretend that it wasn't the biggest lie in her life because from where she was standing _all right_ was far too optimistic. She dragged herself out of hell, for God's sake! She dragged Dean Winchester out of hell without even knowing _how_. Even thinking about it was making Bela uncomfortable. But this blank _all right_ was fine for now. None of them could do anything about it anyway.

So, she let herself relax and snuggle back into his hug. Sighed sleepily, feeling that her mind started drifting away… The cot obviously wasn't wide enough for the two of them, nor was it really comfortable but Bela was okay with the thought of spending the rest of the night on it.

* * *

**To be continued…**

PS Here is a piece of self-promotion, my new vid :)) It's not story-related but it just happened that I finished it together with this chapter. So, in case you're interested http:// www. youtube. com/watch?v=Yw9Y3mxtK7U on YouTube *I know that links work bad here.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note**: All I can hope for is that I manage to write the characters the way they'd be in the show. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, I know. That's probably because I see some things not the way they are. Just don't be too harsh on me :))

Many thanks to everyone for support!

Dig in now :))

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Once Bobby's minivan stopped on the driveway early in the morning, Sam was the first to get out of it. He slammed the door behind him and headed for the porch yawning after the sleepless night and dreaming about something like coffee, or long nap. Or both. In any order.

"Do you think the information is credible?" The question was addressed to Bobby who followed him close by.

"Rumors and talks, Sam. How credible do you think it can be?"

"In a place like that?" Sam grinned. "More credible than breaking news at any rate."

"Exactly!"

"Oh, Dean is so not going to like it," on a sigh.

"Yeah, and that's why _you're_ going to enlighten him," Bobby patted him on the back. "Good luck!"

"Why me?" Sam made an attempt to protest. "It's suicidal."

"You're his little bro. You have more chances to survive the storm," Bobby chuckled.

"Thanks!" Sam drawled. They stopped in front of the door and looked at each other. "So quiet," Sam commented in low voice. Bobby nodded. "Do you think they killed each other?"

Bobby pushed the door open and looked cautiously into the hallway, listening intensely.

"No blood," he informed Sam in a whisper.

"Good start," Sam followed him inside with a sneer.

"At least they stopped shouting," Bobby sighed with relief.

"It's been hours, Bobby."

"So?"

Sam nodded conceding his point. Wouldn't put it past his brother either. Knew Dean well enough to know that he was too stubborn to stop fighting. Suspected that Bela was not less stubborn, too, so… "You think it's a good idea to wake Dean up so early with bad news?" He hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

"Do you think time will make bad news better?" Bobby snorted.

"It's just my strong instinct of self-preservation speaking," Sam threw over the shoulder starting up the stairs.

It wasn't the bloody self-preservation that bothered him though. It was Dean only being back for a little more than a day and was about to be thrown into the battle right away again. Besides…

The thought struck Sam in the middle of the staircase, made blood run cold in his veins. Literary! What was he thinking when he left his brother with Bela? Oh, Lord, that was probably the reason for all this peace and silence! Bela must have sent Dean back to hell and was half a country away from here by now. Ten hours… Might have already crossed Canadian border. Half a country? Ha! Trust Bela to be half a world away.

Sam rushed up the stairs cursing himself and swearing to dear God to rip Bela's head off her neck with his bare hands at the first opportunity. No mercy this time.

Guest room was given to her, so there was only Bobby's bedroom and a study left, and something told Sam that Dean would most likely occupy the later. Heart hammering in his chest, he crossed the distance between the stairs and the door in two big jumps.

"Sam, you okay?" Bobby's voice came from downstairs referring probably to the hurried tramping. Sam ignored the question entirely. Didn't even bother to process it in his mind.

He thrust the door open without so much as hesitation. Didn't even slow his pace, and stumbled inside expecting to see anything – anything! emptiness for example – but… It was pure luck that he managed to grab the door handle instinctively, otherwise he'd most likely not only trip over the picturesque view but also fall to the floor, exactly the way his jaw did.

"D-Dean?" He choked, eyes growing unnaturally wide. Sam even blinked several times in order to make sure that he was seeing what he was seeing. Half-expected the image to disappear.

And then full awkwardness of the situation came to him.

Sam cast his eyes aside; cleared his throat. Looked at the ceiling, then at the bookshelf, then out of the window and at the ceiling again trying to decide for himself what was stronger – embarrassment or relief. Both probably, depending on the viewpoint.

Dean grumbled something in displeasure and raised his head blinking in the light. Rubbed at his eyes sleepily and finally focused his glance on the source of the disturbance.

"Sammy?" As if he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming. "What happened?"

_Good question_, Sam thought, somewhat amused. Deep, deep inside.

"Can I have you for a sec, Dean?" Still looking at anything but his brother, and yes, Bela, and probably blushing. Just a little bit. "We need to talk."

On this he backed into the corridor and closed the door behind him considering the possibility of being delusional. No, seriously, _this_?! Of all the most impossible things in the world… Well, he knew that Bela was a special case. Everyone knew. Everyone who wasn't blind at least. Except for Dean of course, but that wasn't surprising. And yet… Thank God, they were dressed!

"Oh, crap," Bela moaned in frustration and buried her face deeper into the pillow breathing in the scent of Dean that still lingered there.

"Sleep," Dean whispered into her ear, stirring her hair with his breath. "It's okay. I'll talk to him."

"What?" She rolled over – well, turned over, more like it since the cot would never allow anyone to roll without falling off it – and faced him. Saw him for the first time since last afternoon finally given the chance, and light, to actually _see_. He looked funny, definitely not fully awake yet, hair rumpled from sleep, and uncharacteristically shy to look directly at her allowing only quick shots every now and then. Bela smiled softly trying not to think about what she – and her own hair – looked like, and feeling sad despite herself about the fact that this dream came to an end. "No, it's not that. Your brother has just ruined the best sleep I had in months," she confessed on a sigh with obvious disappointment, which came out in a whisper too, assuming that her throat was scratchy from sleep as she wasn't fully awake as well. "I will never forgive him."

"It will break his heart," Dean grinned.

"I'll be gentle," Bela assured him, a step away from sending Sam to hell – not literary! – and cuddling in for a little while longer.

When the door opened at last, Sam whirled around… and came face to face with Bela.

"Sam," she beamed, the wattage of her wide – and damn her, _condescending_! – smile close to impossible.

"Morning, Bela," Sam muttered as she went past him and down the corridor into the direction of a bathroom, chin tipped high and… was she murmuring some tune under her breath?! All _Queen of the world 24/7_. Sam shook his head. _She_ definitely wasn't embarrassed. If she could be at all.

"So, what is it, Sammy?" Dean appeared in the corridor right after her buttoning up his long-sleeved flannel pulled over the plain black t-shirt. Followed Sam's gaze that followed Bela, and hemmed.

"Yeah, well… I just…" Sam trailed off. Blinked, still processing the whole situation in his mind. "She told you?"

"Told me what?" Dean frowned. Too early to start thinking properly.

Sam paused. "Well… um, _something_ that led to…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Nothing happened, okay? We just…"

"No, wait!" Sam interrupted him hastily. "Save it to yourself, Dean. I'm sure I don't want to know the details. There are still some things I prefer to stay unaware of."

Dean scoffed at his so obvious discomfort. Debated adding something saucy nonetheless but then only yawned wide. "Whatever," he mumbled. Registered the sound of pouring water coming from behind the bathroom door and shook his head in order to erase the image from his mind. Bela in the shower… Okay, enough! Gave Sam a once-over from head to toe and narrowed his eyes. "Where have you been? And… what time is it, for God's sake?"

"7.30," Sam replied automatically.

"7.30. Sure. Great! Did you have a particular reason to wake me up at 7.30?"

"I need to talk to you," Sam repeated. He cast a quick look at the bathroom door and turned to Dean again. "About something serious."

Dean paused. "I hate it when you say such things, Sammy. They never promise…" he fell silent. Sniffed at the air. "Is that coffee?"

Bad news always went better with coffee after all. Or whiskey. Or both, speaking of that. But at 7.30 coffee would do just fine.

***

Well, it didn't help now. Not really. Dean had a serious suspicion that whiskey wouldn't help either. Apparently, some news could go only with alcohol _and_ strong drugs.

"Is that true?" He asked quietly some half an hour later. Stared into his mug with long forgotten and obviously disgusting by now coffee. It was so not helping!

"Does it sound like a joke to you?" Sam snorted but then shook his head at the sight of his clearly pissed off and somewhat crushed brother who didn't so much as moved during his not so inspiring monologue. "I wish it _was_ a joke, man, you know."

"That bad, huh?" Dean finally looked up at him. Turned to Bobby then.

"That's what we heard," Bobby shrugged. "You know how much you can trust to what you hear in the places like this."

"More than anything," Dean's lop-sided smile was bitter and lacked any amusement.

"More than anything," Sam echoed on a sigh.

Silence reigned in the room for a while interrupted only by the tickling of the old clock on the marble mantelpiece. It sounded like a reminder of their time running out.

"So, hunting season's open?" Dean scoffed at last. "Terrific!"

"Sort of," Sam agreed wincing.

"Well, if they want us so bad, all we have to do is get them first, right?" Dean's voice was full of cold determination. "Let's just do it."

"First we have to make them reveal themselves," Bobby reminded quite unwillingly.

Dean rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. And to make them reveal themselves…" Peered expectedly at Sam.

Sam hesitated for a moment. Held Dean's gaze wishing like hell that he didn't have to say what he had to say. Hated to even think about repeating what he told before.

"One of you should be the bait."

And, want it or not, it definitely sounded like a death sentence, or something else similarly unpleasant. What a terrible joke of fate! Dean could practically hear it laughing him in the face. To be back only to risk everything once again because one little hell bitch wanted him so badly that she even started playing open. Damn it! Wondered despite himself if he was on her Birthday gifts list. No, he _and_ Bela from now on. Cute! Now they were like some friggin' Bonnie and Clyde. But then the whole irony was that if they didn't make first move and take this risk, they probably wouldn't last long enough to enjoy their newly gained lives. Vicious cycle.

"Right. Sure. Of course one of us should be the bait. Not that I expected anything else, but… come on!" Dean shook his head. "That's great, really. So fucking great that I almost want to go and cut my throat, and save everyone a trouble."

"Dean…" Bobby started warningly.

"No, it's fine," he smirked, more to himself than to anyone else. Got up to his feet and put the mug onto the table. Even thinking about drinking that stuff made him sick. "Always wanted the head of Lilith on a stake, and dreams should come true eventually."

The three of them fell silent at the sound of the footsteps in the hallway.

Bela paused near the doorway to the living room, hair – still wet from the shower – framing her face. She looked at the three of them in turns, arched her brows at what she saw – whatever it was – and then continued to the kitchen without saying a word. Dean could have sworn that she rolled her eyes though, but refused to think about the reasons for it.

"Me," he breathed out when he was sure she was out of reach to hear.

"What?" Sam blinked at him.

"Don't tell her anything," Dean looked at him, then at Bobby. "I'll be the bait."

They listened to the sounds of life coming from the kitchen, which were Bela doing… _something_.

"Gotta get that," Bobby muttered when the phone rang somewhere in the depths of the house and hurried to pick it up.

"Dean…" Sam started.

Dean rubbed his face. Looked into nowhere waiting for his thoughts to settle before speaking again. "I'm so tired of choosing between bad and worse." Fury. Anger. There was a wish to hit something – someone – written all over Dean's face. "So fucking tired of this _need_ to make choices when they are only choices by definition, but in the end there is no choice at all." Shifted his gaze to the ceiling as if hoping to find an answer written somewhere up there. "I'll get her, Sam. Swear to God, this time I'll get her, wherever the price is."

Sam nodded, all _not that I expected anything else but_… Cleared his throat, looked at the piles of books, at the talking board that still remained lying on the table. Shifted his gaze back to Dean and registered for the first time that something was different about him. Something that his brother was probably unaware of, and wondered despite himself what caused this change. Still Dean, but not the same Dean, not the way he was before he… _died_. The thought was uncomfortable.

"You do realize how dangerous it is, right?" Sam asked somewhat suspiciously.

"Well, before you mentioned it I thought it would be like… a party, or something," Dean confessed thoughtfully, mock disappointment all over his face. "But… _dangerous_? Now I've gotta think twice."

"I'm serious, Dean! Don't you think…"

"I don't," he cut him off. "What am I supposed to do, Sam? What do you expect from me? It's our job to kick bad asses, remember?"

"I just wanted to say that we might need help. Any help."

"No. I want her out of this." Dean dropped his eyes as if the toes of his shoes were the most interesting thing to look at, and huffed loudly in frustration when Sam's brows shot up with interest. "I _can't_ make her to go through the whole thing, okay? Happy?"

Sam's lips stretched into a wide grin. "Who are you, man? And what did you do to my brother?"

"Shut up."

"Why so dull, boys?" Bela reappeared in the doorway with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. Took a small sip and nodded to herself in appreciation. "Anyone died?" She asked casually… and froze when the meaning of the question kicked in. Raised her head slowly. "Did anyone…"

"Not yet," Sam mumbled.

"They're just trying to digest the fact that the three of you are kinda… wanted," Bobby squeezed past her into the room.

Dean sent him a warning look, and received the one that was all _I know better than that!_ from him.

"Wanted?" Bela repeated in confusion, slowly, as if tasting the word in her mouth. "Why?" She followed Bobby with her eyes as he made his way around the couch.

"Well, they want Sam because they always wanted Sam," he explained. "All this anti-Christ theory and everything. He's a legend."

"Lucky me," Sam scoffed, not at all flattered.

"They want Dean because he is back from hell," Bobby continued, "which is fundamentally wrong, you see, and they can't do anything about it."

Bela looked at Dean and registered the smirk that clearly read: _yes, it's me. Ain't I awesome? Sorry, can't help myself!_ She resisted an urge to smirk herself. Turned to Bobby whose somewhat matter-of-fact tone didn't let her get if what he was saying was good or bad, or just neutral facts and she might as well forget them in five minutes. Tilted her head expectedly.

"And they want you," he finished, "because of what you are."

"Because of what I am? It sounds insulting."

"Because you can bring people – and who knows what else – back from hell. Sounds better? Not a skill they'd want anyone to have, see."

That was getting ridiculous!

"I can't control it, Bobby," Bela reminded him on a snort, and contemplated killing the next person who asked her about _how_.

"You will probably find it difficult to prove it, I'm afraid."

"But…" she frowned. "But I thought you said I have to really _want_ it to happen." Ignored Sam's smirk which he attempted to hide behind the cough.

"A wish to _live_ might work too if they chain you to the wall and use some… torturing."

Bela paled – something that she clearly couldn't control. Her face pulled in horror, green eyes grew wide. She clenched her hands around the mug so tight that her knuckles turned white. It felt like she was hanging on the rope above the abyss, and then this rope suddenly gave in and tore in two pieces, and now she was falling into nowhere.

"No one's going to torture you," Dean assured her immediately. "No one's going to torture her," he repeated firmly to Sam and Bobby.

Something in his voice made Bela's heart jump up to her very throat and fasten its beat. Made her wonder if he was overly protective _just because_ or it had something to do with her personally. Or if it was just her imagination and nothing more than that. And how on earth could her fear and this stupid _jumping heart_ thing work together anyway? Hell if she wanted to know the answer, really! Debated asking it directly for a moment or two but only waved her hand then. Mentally.

Well, Dean didn't _look_ like he meant something special by it. When he turned to her, boyish smile was back on his face. "Now, how really cool is that to be outlaws?" wish such excitement that Bela's lips quirked into a grin against her will.

"Even more outlaws than you've always been?" She snorted. "Charming! Any other good news or I should start feeling privileged right away?" Batted her eyelashes at him fighting to portray genuine interest.

"Always so bright! I wonder how you manage it, Bela." He made a funny face at her.

"Special talent maybe."

"Good news is that it is nothing actually, right?" Turned back expecting for support.

"But…" Bobby started.

"Right?" Dean made big eyes at him now that Bela couldn't see his face.

Sam grumbled something that Bela didn't understand. Bobby simply shrugged in complete disinterest. He seemed to be too occupied with going through what looked like a centuries' old journal.

"Nothing?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, peered at Dean.

"Absolutely. Well, you see it's always been like this – they wanted us dead, we wanted them dead. Nothing new here," pretty casually. His expression was blank. She remembered him talking to her at night, voice barely audible in the darkness, and felt that the color was coming back to her cheeks. Literary. Like in _blushing_. "So, how do you like the idea of going home?"

The offer was so unexpected that Bela's brows shot up in amazement. "What? Can't wait to get rid of me? So soon? I'm disappointed." Hoped that actual disappointment wasn't _that_ obvious.

Dean shrugged, all _I didn't want to say it but now that you did it first…_ Their eyes met but Bela couldn't read his expression. "We've got job to do," he explained lightly. "Ghosts and everything. Interested?"

_Yes!_

"Not really," she admitted with polite and utterly fake smile. Tried to ignore the emptiness that filled her within a blink of a moment. Not that she expected anything else, Bela thought ruefully. Should have guessed from the start that he'd rush ahead into his life right away.

One month. Things to learn; things to catch up with; bad asses to kick. Besides, saving Dean made them even in a way, she decided. It was stupid to think that they'd want her to stick around, assuming that she wasn't homeless or something. Not that she wanted to stick around anyway. Of course she'd refuse if they offered it. Bela Talbot wasn't planning on becoming a hunter and fighting what can't be changed, or destroyed, or killed. Whatever! She might be back from hell, or elsewhere, it didn't matter, but she was back in her right mind. And hunting? Gosh, it wasn't even funny.

But… so soon?

"Fine," she nodded when no one made at attempt to object. "Gonna give me a lift?"

"As soon as you're ready, sweetheart!" On the widest smile ever.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam hissed at him when Bela was out of the room.

And as soon as she was gone, Dean's face lost all this fake enthusiasm and anticipation of a hunting, or whatever he meant when he mention _job_. He looked gravely at his bother, and it was desperation that Sam saw. Desperation and sourness. He reminded Sam a blown off balloon, empty and hopeless.

"I told you, Sammy, I want her out of this story," in a tired voice. "For her own safely." _Right things, damn them_!

_And your own calmness, apparently_, Sam added mentally but knew better than voicing something like that.

"Besides," Dean added, "if Lilith wants the three of us, we better stay separated and give her hard time."

***

They were driving in silence most of time, Dean and Sam sitting in the front seat and Bela with some of the Winchesters' stuff – in the back. She took a seat right behind Sam intentionally, in order to avoid any accidental eye contacts with Dean in the rearview mirror. Could see the top of his head there though, but that was it.

The conversation didn't settle which made Bela wonder somewhat distractedly – now that she didn't have much to think about anyway, or didn't want – if it had something to do with her and the fact that the brothers didn't want to discuss their new case around her. Or if it was something that she didn't know about – and probably didn't want to know – because she could feel the tension without seeing any reason for it. Felt strange either way. No laughs and witty comments, which she half-expected to fill the whole journey. So not right.

The music was on but the volume was quiet enough not to make it annoying, just a background noise that was helping to track down time. And okay, time was not _crawling_ exactly, but whenever Bela thought about hitting the road together with the brothers, she imagined that it would _fly_. Every now and then Sam and Dean exchanged something that Bela called a _Secret Winchesters Code_ – she had no problems with understanding separate words but hell if she could get the meaning of their small talks. Well, they weren't really informative anyway, not to her at least, so she didn't care much.

Watching them was funny, almost entertaining.

Some time later Bela registered that Sam was giving Dean quick looks as if he wanted to say something but couldn't do it for one reason or another, and probably expected Dean to get it somehow without words. It caught her, aroused her curiosity, and she peered at Sam for a while, burning the back of his head with her eyes, curious about whether he'd feel it one way or another. But Dean was either blind, or simply wasn't giving a damn – both variants seemed equally possible to her. Sam gave up at last and turned away, and she relaxed in her seat as well.

They dropped Sam off somewhere half-way to Queens, in a motel which Dean called _a_ _good starting point_. Bela didn't share his opinion whatever he meant. What she saw from the window – a long one-storey building that probably was green or light blue some decades ago, but now its color was barely definable; a small parking lot and a neon sign, off now that it was daytime, which was missing one letter – didn't look like anything good unless your standards were way below zero. But she did not comment it one way or another, only arched her brows. Caught Dean's look in the rearview mirror this time. Held it long enough and then switched to Sam walking across the parking lot to the registration office, presumably.

Reality was stomping in their lives with terrifying speed. This – shabby motels in the middle of nowhere – was the reality of the Winchesters. And it made Bela wonder what she should be waiting ahead.

Once Sam was gone, Bela announced that riding in the backseat was making her feel sick and moved to the front. Added that _being sick_ also referred to the Winchesters' stuff flying all over the backseat and thumping into her every now and then on the curves of the road.

Dean watched her settling with curiosity, obviously amused by her huffs and snorts, and threw the Impala into gear as soon as she buckled the seatbelt.

Bela rolled the window down and let the evening breeze stir her hair. She breathed in the smell of dry leaves and late flowers. Monotonous scenery outside the window, which consisted mainly of the trees and road signs, caught her attention for a while. Something to concentrate on in order not to think about other things.

She ambushed Dean some time later and switched the radio to the station she liked. Beamed at him.

"Hey! It's driver's privilege to pick the music!" He protested.

"Oh, please, don't tell me people really buy this!" Bela opened her mouth in mock disbelief. Paused. "What? Sam does?" In actual disbelief now. "Oh, my! You two never cease to amaze me."

Dean huffed in irritation and glared daggers at her, but he didn't switch the radio back to the station that was on before, and Bela leaned back into the softened leather of the seat, totally enjoying herself and Dean's way too artificial displeasure. Saw him throwing quick looks at her every once in a while out of the corner of her eye but pretended she didn't notice.

She rolled the window up some time later, when the air became cooler, and leaned her forehead against it staring aimlessly into the darkness doing her best to block out what she was almost sure by now were actual memories from hell, although she wasn't keen on admitting it even to herself. Too much blood, too much pain. Desperation. Always before her mind's eye, every moment. Several hours more, and she would be left alone with them.

She wanted ask Dean about the new case. Or something else. Anything.

"Thank you."

The words were so sudden and out of place that at the first moment Bela thought that she heard them in her head only, which, okay, wouldn't surprise her. But of course it wasn't just that. Dean.

She whipped her head around. Frowned, realizing somewhat belatedly that he might have said something to her and she missed it entirely. "For what?"

"For brining me back."

_Oh..._

"Dean, I told you…"

"Yes, I remember. You don't know anything." She heard a bitter smile in his voice. He wasn't looking at her, watched dark asphalt ahead of the car instead. "But you… you know, _wanted_ me back, or whatever it was. It sort of means more than if you knew and… well, just did it." A shrug followed as if the importance of his words felt awkward. "Guess I gotta thank you for giving me that second chance."

She watched him for a while. "You're welcome then," on a small smile, which she attempted to hide by biting her bottom lip and turning away.

And then – Bela didn't know if his intention was to ruin the moment or to make it less private, or if he was serious – Dean narrowed his eyes and looked at her with poorly hidden suspicion. "You're not going to charge me, are you?"

They drove up to her apartment building some time after dawn. Bela's heart squeezed at the so familiar sight. Home. That was it. The only place in her life that she could call so. The one she strived to come back to when she was hundreds of miles away. Her safe haven. Unless… she cast a sidelong glance in Dean's direction. Okay, her security system was not perfect.

He pulled the car up not far from the entrance and quitted the engine.

"Do you…" _want to come up and have a cup of coffee,_ Bela wanted to ask.

He looked tired after the sleepless night – not that she slept much herself, if dozing off a couple of times for some thirty minutes in total could be considered sleeping at all, but then she didn't have to drive all the way back to Sam. And Bela wondered with concern how he was going to make it without passing out. But the intimacy of the offer paralyzed her speech like… Oh, like they didn't spend a night together tangled on some half a century old squeaky cot enjoying it more than anything, for God's sake! So ridiculous! They were adults after all, and if she offered him coffee it would be just coffee. There was nothing bad about being nice and polite. After all, _she_ was the one with proper manners!

Instead, Bela cleared her throat. Smiled. "Thank you."

_Awkward_.

Dean cleared his, too. Made her wonder despite herself what _he_ had to bite back. "You sure you'll be okay?"

Bela's brows shot up to the very hair line. Oh, she couldn't let this one slip! "You were the one who told me to get out, and now you ask me such questions, Dean?"

He huffed loudly through his nose, frustration as clear as it only could be. "Just watch your back, okay?"

Even so? "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you care," Bela drawled mockingly.

"Thank God, you know better!" He rolled his eyes on a snort. "You do, don't you?"

Bela reached for the door handle on a laugh, pushed it open and was half way out of the Impala when Dean caught her by the wrist. His touch was hot, almost burning, and there was a crease between his brows. "I'm serious, Bela."

"Don't worry. I'm a big girl," as lightly as possible as if they weren't talking about mortal danger. "Besides, I'll find what to say to the little bitch shall she show up." _She got the Colt for free and I still died_, she added mentally but decided not to bring the topic up out loud.

"Do you…" he began, but stuttered and looked away, "…um, you know, want me to come up with you? Check if everything's fine." And cleared his throat. _Again_.

_Yes, of course!_

"No, it's okay. I'll be fine."

Bela smiled at him – at least he found enough courage to voice what she chocked on – and then to her own surprise leaned forward and pressed her lips to his before slipping of the car. And she thought that offering coffee was wrong??

"Hey, Bela," Dean leaned across the seat and looked out of the open passenger window. Waited for her to bend down and grinned. "Do me a favor, try not to rise some baddy, accidentally or on purpose."

"What? Mind a little challenge?" And then, "That's out of question, Dean. It's not like there is anyone left in hell who I'd like to be back." Paused. "You take care, too."

She made her way to the entrance never looking back. Smiled to herself now that Dean couldn't see it anyway. Did she really say that? That he was someone special? Oh, well. Dean should have seen his face when the meaning kicked in! The moment was worth it. She heard the squeal of tires behind her back and dared to throw a quick glance over her shoulder only when she put her hand on the door knob. Saw black silhouette of the Impala behind the trees. And… here was the loneliness.

Dean watched her back contemplating the things that never came to his mind before, like coming out and calling her back, feeding her some crap about safety and sticking together, or something else extremely ridiculous. He never was bad at coming up with some nonsense when he needed, was he? Hated watching her go, Dean realized. Hated himself for letting her go. She looked disappointed, didn't she? Or not? Strange feeling of unexpected loss caught him be surprise, rendered him immobile for a moment or two. Forced him to turn the key in the ignition on a rush and wind out of the parking lot at top speed.

Fucking right things! He hated them.

* * *

**To be continued…**

*** Reviews - good or bad - are always love :)) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's notes**: Some final scenes are rated **T** (yeah, in bold); nothing special but just for safety. So, you're warned :))

Other than that, it is sort of a song-chappie. Yeah, I know – again :) Couldn't help myself, really. The song seemed too fitting to the situation to ignore it. Besides, I like it generally.

Okay, go on now :))

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean hung up and put the phone onto the table. He rubbed at his eyes, looked at the book in his lap almost with disgust and shut it close.

"What?" Sam lifted his head from the monitor of his laptop.

"Nothing!" Dean exclaimed melodramatically.

"At all?"

"Uh-huh. Silence! No one says anything. Can you imagine it?"

"Hardly."

"Which is really bad for us," Dean continued. "It means they are getting prepared for something so big that no friggin' leaks are allowed."

"Meaning, we don't know what to start with," Sam winced and glared at the screen with unmistakable disappointment.

Nothing.

Practically, they could only keep holy water supplies and Ruby's knife close at hand, and hope they'd be lucky enough to have a chance to use them. Anything else was utterly useless.

"Exactly."

"You think it can be a trap?"

"Of course it is a trap, dude! It is always a trap. Bobby thinks they want our guards down before, you know, attacking or something."

Dean buried his face in his hands; ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. It came out like the weight of the whole world's well-being was on his shoulders only. This waiting of something indefinite yet inevitable was getting on his nerves, leaving him restless, sleepless. Uneasy and anxious for no reason, too. And being stuck in this motel room one on one, Sam aside, with his thoughts – and what was that? Memories? Gee, great! – was nearly making him climb up the walls.

"So friggin' sick of being a part of this bloody game," he confessed, although it was hard to say if he was talking to Sam or to himself. "Never belonged to myself even for one goddamned minute of my life. Even my death was a part of this game. And now I'm back… and everything's the same! What's the point?" Looked up at his brother. "No, seriously, what's the point of this all, Sammy? I… I don't know. I'm not sure I can continue it like this." And… determination.

"Days of our lives," Sam muttered. "But maybe that's it, Dean? Maybe that's the point?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you were meant to be back to change it all? What if, you know, no one but you can handle it?" And, okay, maybe that was pushing it just a bit. Didn't sound inspirational, Sam knew it. But Dean always was good with duty and responsibility stuff. Or had been, some older version of his brother.

"Back to super-hero theories?" Dean grinned sourly. "Hell is a terrible place. I mean I guess so," he added quickly foreseeing the questions that might follow. "But some things in life… losing people we love, losing battles one after another with even more coming… they are not much better." A pause. "I can't keep on losing, Sammy," in a whoosh of breath. "Not this time. I can't keep on losing people I care about. Don't want to put living for later because there would probably be no _later_. Guess, it takes one to die to realize something like that."

Sam held his eyes for a while, considering.

"Why don't you just call her?"

"Who?" Dean frowned although they both knew that he understood.

"Bela."

Being said out loud, the name made Dean immobile for a moment. He smirked then, completely humorlessly, and got to his feet. "I don't know what you're talking about, dude. Gonna go and grab something to eat, what d'you say? I'm starving!" The last announcement was made on the widest smile ever, like he couldn't care less about anything else in the world.

"Sure," Sam nodded knowing that it was not so much about the food as about escaping for a while.

"Preferences?"

"Something edible would be fine," he scoffed.

"Got ya! Where's my wallet?"

Dean looked around the room and spotted brown leather on the bedside table, a folder and a book rested on top of it, beside empty plastic glass. Grumbling something about freaking junk under his breath, he pulled the wallet from under the pile… and dropped the folder to the floor. It swung open, several sheets of paper and a copy of a newspaper article fell out of it and flew all over the worn out carpet.

Cursing through clenched teeth, Dean knelt between the beds and started gathering it all. He was about to put the folder back to where it was lying before when his eyes spotted a familiar name in the article, quite accidentally.

He frowned; got up from the floor and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, eyes peering intensely at the text.

"What is this?" He asked Sam while going through the documents.

"What?" Sam snapped his head up.

It took him less than a moment to recognize the green cover. Bela's file.

"This!" Dean poked into the folder. "Damn it, Sammy, what the hell is this?" And without waiting for an answer as it didn't matter much, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Bela would probably kill me if I did… and then I thought you knew."

"How?!" Dean bellowed.

"I thought she told you." Now it was Sam's turn to frown.

"Well, she didn't!" And then, with annoyance, "Apparently, this little fact somehow slipped her mind."

"What was that sweet moment between the two of you about then?"

Dean glowered at him but ignored the question as if he didn't hear it at all.

"Is this true?"

His fingers flipped through the papers catching bits of information here and there, blood hammering in his ears so hard that he was seeing spots. The images flashing before his eyes and a violently flopping stomach didn't let him concentrate well enough to read thoroughly. _It wasn't about money_. The voice was so clear in his head, he even thought for a moment or two that Bela was here in the room, saying these words to him again.

"Guess so," Sam agreed slowly.

"But… but it is said here that Bela's father was reported for child abuse," Dean raised his head and looked expectedly at Sam.

"Well, if the police reports are not lying…" he trailed off.

"By his daughter," in a low voice. _It wasn't about money_. Bloody hell! "It means by…"

Sam nodded and shrugged somewhat indefinitely, like _why ask if you know the answer?_ "They never started a case in the absence of evidences though," he added.

"Or they didn't want to see them." Angrily, Sam noted, although he didn't understand if it referred to the inoperative police, or Bela not saying a word, or Dean's own blindness. "Son of a… I've got to talk to her!"

He was on his feet before he even knew it. Threw the folder onto the bed not giving a damn about the papers that fell out again and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

"Dean, wait! How about…" but he was out of the room before Sam finished the phrase, "… the phone?" He watched the door for a while. "I guess it's too late to remind you to grab ketchup… since the whole food thing is no longer valid." And then into the air. "Good luck."

***

Bela Talbot had things to do.

She had two orders – for an ancient amulet and for a spell book. Besides, she had a client lined up for a supposedly cursed jewelry set which she was keeping locked in her safe and luckily found untouched.

Things to organize, meetings to arrange.

Strange how easy it was to get back to her old life style. Bela didn't know whether she should be happy or sad about the fact that none of her contacts – at least none of those who she talked to so far – noticed her absence. On the one hand, the loneliness from realization that one day she might disappear forever and no one would notice became overwhelming, consuming her, paralyzing her with fear and panic. Whereas on the other… funny, but she was almost glad that everything turned out like that. It saved her a lot of time and nerves explaining how it happened that she died and got back to life again, and proving that she was human. She wasn't in touch for several weeks? Fine, she simply didn't have required items to sell or wasn't looking for one thing or another. Everyone was okay with that.

Bela knew that sooner or later the rumors would start to spread; especially now that Dean was back, too. She got used to staying in the shadow – blind, deaf and invisible, just as her business required – but the same could hardly be said about the legendary Winchesters. Although she refused to think about how to deal with gossips until they actually became a matter of her concern. Chances were, her miraculous resurrection would stay unnoticed. It was too optimistic, and she knew it, but going on like this was easier.

Speaking of the Winchesters… It had been a week, and she hadn't talked to any of them ever since she got back home. Not that she expected Dean to call or something. She only _supposed_ that he would. Maybe. He didn't though. Must have been head over heels in another exciting case, Bela guessed somewhat contemptuously, pretending that her heart wasn't jumping up to her throat every time she heard her phone ringing. She wanted to make a call herself but couldn't find a reason. Wanted to call without a reason then. Twice. But both times instead of pushing the _dial_ button she was putting her phone away and moving on to her other activities.

"He is busy with saving the world," Bela informed her cat once. "Besides, if he wanted to talk, he'd call. He has my number." Her cat's ears twitched, which she took as agreement with both statements and willed herself to stop thinking about Dean. _If he doesn't care, why would I bother?_

…There was blood, a lot of blood. And darkness, so thick that it was impossible to say where was up and down, if there was up or down. Everything looked the same. And there were screams of numerous of suffering souls. And there was fire, or maybe it was the agonizing pain that made everything red and glowing. She didn't know that for sure, nor did she care.

She was only grasping for the moments of slightest relief between endless hours of torturing, or maybe they were days, or weeks. Time did not exist there; one moment could last for eternity.

And _he_ was there, almost always. Even if she couldn't see him – through the darkness or through the pain – Bela knew that _he_ was somewhere nearby, could feel it, which was even worse. She was pleading him, begging him to stop, over and over again. It never helped, like it never helped when they were both alive. Past the pain she could only hear him laughing, telling her that he was waiting for her to come, that he always knew she'd show up sooner or later because it was what she deserved, and everything was starting again. Just like then…

"Bela," the voice came to her through the thick layer of pain and desperation.

"No!" She screamed out loud. "Don't touch me!" And quieter, pleading, "Please, don't…" and opened her eyes breathing heavily.

Another dream, she realized. The relief rushed through her. It wasn't real. Not anymore. She was home, it was safe. She observed the ceiling of her living room and breathed in the scent of her leather couch almost with pleasure. But then… if it wasn't a dream anymore, if she was awake, why the touch to her shoulders felt so real?

Bela sat upright on a rush, panic forming within her even before she processed terrible possibilities in her mind.

"Hey, easy!" The voice was quiet and soothing. And so damn familiar. "It's okay. It's me." A hand brushed hair from her face; rough fingers ran gently down her cheek.

"Dean?" She finally focused her eyes on him and frowned in confusion. "What are you doing here?" Held back the question about _how_ since it wasn't a problem for Dean to get wherever he felt like getting. Her security system was a lousy barrier.

Still dreaming?

Bela looked around her living room. The last thing she remembered was pouring a cup of chamomile tea for herself and settling in the couch in order to go through some papers. Her cat joined her right away, purring softly and… and she must have dozed off soon after that, she decided, which was hours ago by the looks of it. It was dark outside now, and someone turned on the reading lamp. Probably Dean as she didn't remember doing it herself.

"Was driving by," Dean replied on a nonchalant shrug. "Decided to check on how you're doing." Another shrug.

_Oh! O-okay…_

"Driving from where to where?" Bela tilted her head and batted eyelashes innocently at him, all pure curiosity and expectation. She knew – approximately – where the Winchesters were, or could be, and wherever Dean might need to drive, it definitely wasn't through Queens. Unless, of course, he had the crappiest sense of navigation ever. Assumption that he might get lost amused her.

He ignored her question though… and was that blush? Well, maybe just a trick of dim light.

"What was that about?" He asked instead.

"What?" Bela blinked at him. Shook her head. "Nothing, just a bad dream." _I hope_. And then she giggled – couldn't help it, really, and rumpled his wet hair with her fingers. "What happened to you? Did you fall in a pool?"

"It friggin' rains outside!" Dean announced somewhat defensively and anything but pouted like some five-year old.

And as in confirmation of his words white lightning broke through the pitch-black sky like some extremely long flash of photo camera. And then another followed right after the first one accompanied by deafening thunder that seemed to make the whole building tremble. Someone's car alarm turned on and howled loudly for a couple of seconds somewhere in the street. Bela's cat jumped down from the armchair he was occupying, tail puffed, and hurried to crawl under it.

"Your parking lot was filled up, too," Dean added, a mixture of complaint and accusation in his voice, as if all these cars down there were all hers and she occupied all vacant spaces out of wish to piss him off. "Had to leave my baby almost two blocks down the street and walk here in the pouring rain."

"And it was a challenge of a century for you, Dean," she hemmed. "Should have called first," pointed out reproachfully then. "I'd save you a place."

"Didn't want to ruin a surprise!" Dean beamed at her, all self-satisfaction and happiness at once, looking like he was a Christmas gift in the flesh, and apparently sincerely believing in it.

He pretended he didn't notice how quickly she changed the subject from that bad dream of hers or whatever it was. Tried to erase from his mind the way she was screaming in her sleep… It nearly made Dean send to hell all common sense together with the security system and just break the bloody door off, feverishly trying to come up with how to fight with whatever could be behind it, images of Bela being tortured – for real – before his eyes… Never would have imagined he could be so scared for her. Thank God, the lock gave in before he actually did something absurd.

"Well, it worked," Bela assured him seriously on a nod. "You scared hell out of me," _almost literary_, she tacked on and laughed at he mock-hurt expression. "Whatever. Come on, take this off!" She started pulling his soaked jacket off his shoulders.

"What? Missed me that much, sweetheart?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows but gave in to her manipulations nonetheless.

Bela looked skeptically down her nose at him. "In your dreams!" On a snort. "But we have to dry you up somehow. I don't want to baby-sit you if you get pneumonia or something else nasty." And for good measure, "Besides, no way I'm letting you damage my furniture with your wet clothes."

"So not convincing!" Dean singsonged after her when she left to the bathroom holding his jacket in outstretched arms with such expression like it was a dead rat, and not a piece of cotton and leather. "Not that I'd let you take care of me anyway." Loud enough so she'd hear. And swallowed the line about not really minding such outcome.

"You alone?" She asked on return, gave Dean a studying once-over and tossed a towel at him. "Where's Sam?"

"Working," he caught the towel effortlessly and hung it around his neck. And without specifications it even wasn't a lie.

"Oh, God!" Bela rolled her eyes trying to look irritated but didn't manage to resist a smile. "Give me that!" She snatched the towel from him and threw it over his head. "No, seriously, Dean, why did you come?" Casually, like she didn't care much, and yet anything but caught her breath in anticipation of an answer. Not an idle curiosity, she realized with surprise. She _needed_ to know. "Need some help?"

There was something about him – the way he looked at her perhaps, like she was somebody else – that didn't let her buy this little friendly visit lie. She tried to recall what could possibly cause such effect but nothing specific came to her mind.

"Ouch!" He grimaced – well, she supposed that he did; people usually do when they sound like this – at the subtle movements of her fingers all over his scalp. "Is that a beheading? What did I do to you?" And then, answering her question, "Not all of us are that materialistic, Bela, see." Finally, Dean managed to dodge away from her hands and dive from under the towel. "Damn, I can do it myself!" He scowled at her. She was gentle, despite what he was saying, and she knew it, and he knew that she knew, and… and he didn't know how to react. His whole plan was totally fucked up as everything was going not the way he expected, and quick thinking didn't seem to be working one way or another as well.

"You needed a place to stay?" She guessed then, folded her arms on the chest. "I can recommend you a nice motel some ten minutes from here. No rats, or so they say. Never checked it myself."

"Cute! Your hospitality is killing, you know that?" He cocked his head as if expecting her to appreciate his discovery, and moved on when Bela only arched her brows expressively at him, "So, how does you little dirty business go?"

"Perfect!" Loftily. "And how is saving the world going?"

"Even better," he assured her.

Bela was halfway through forming a decent answer – or sarcastic shot back, if you please – in her head when another lightning flashed outside, so bright that it seemed almost blinding. The lights in her apartment blinked once and went out plunging the room into darkness.

Dean reached for his gun on an instant, all senses on within a moment and working to their fullest. First thing that came to his mind was – demons.

"It's okay," Bela put her hand on his arm. "It's just the weather. Happens sometimes." She looked around, considering. The phone was probably out, too. Her security system switched to emergency generator though. One thing not to worry about.

"Nice," Dean muttered through chattering teeth. Yeah, staying around in wet clothes sucked. But then… To hell with everything! Her hand remained on his arm!

Bela turned to him. "I've got candles and…" she trailed off. And what was she going to say anyway?

He was so close that she could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. She swallowed hard despite herself and fought an urge to step back, or forward, speaking of that. Made an attempt to concentrate on something that wasn't _Dean_-related, or _Dean-in-her-apartment_-related, or _Dean-being-so-close-that-she-could-hear-him-breathing_-related… and failed. Well, okay, no surprise here since the whole idea was simply ridiculous from the start.

His tension was almost tangible, alarm still on – definitely not taking her words about bad weather conditions for granted and prepared to fight if required – but still…

She stayed alone most of time, two buyers and her cat aside, and didn't realize how lonely she was until he broke into her apartment – old habits die hard, see – and literary pulled her out of that nightmare of hers, saved her again, from her inner demons this time.

"Bela…"

The sound of his deep low voice hung in the air sending waves of warmth through her entire body. She couldn't make it though, not just like that. Not a plea, but not a warning, and maybe nothing at all. Mixed signal. But she knew where it was taking them. They both knew.

It didn't matter who of them moved first.

The towel that Dean was holding in the hand fell soundlessly to the wood floor. His lips were on hers, soft and warm, exactly like she remembered them, kissing her slowly, gently; his fingers raking through her hair, framing her face. He tasted like rain, and desperation, and need, and odd bitterness past passion like he accepted inevitable and there was no turning back now, and something else that Bela couldn't decipher. Like it was the last chance or something like that. Something not good. Unspoken sourness.

She gathered the remains of strength she still had somewhere deep inside and pushed herself off Dean. Looked him in the face memorizing the way he looked in the ghostly light of the storm and wishing she could read his thoughts. Pleading for time to stop.

"What is it?" He asked in a barely audible hoarse voice, confused. And maybe panicking a little bit. There still was a chance to retreat and cover his tracks if he misinterpreted something before the whole situation came to a humiliating point, which he couldn't stand to even think about.

Bela ran her fingers through his hair, allowed a small smile at the frown that he didn't manage to hide. "Give me a sec, okay?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, taking in small shallow breaths, giving her heart a chance to slow its wild race before it actually jumped out of her chest. His wet t-shirt smelled like leather and cologne, a good one, Bela noted. Soft fabric felt cool to her cheek compared to the warmth of his touch to her face moments ago. Dean sighed into her neck, his hands moving around her back, comforting, soothing. The gesture that nearly left her breathless, made her eyes burn.

She held on to him long enough to collect herself, listening to the thunder and howling of the wind, before pulling back and finding his lips again, scared somewhere in the back of her mind that he might change his mind or… disappear.

He didn't…

Everything was like a slow-motion replay; every movement lasted forever, each moment floated in time. Bela let him pull her shirt off; then willingly helped him to get rid of his and threw it carelessly aside. Her fingers trailed down his shoulders and up his bare chest admiring fine lines and hard muscles, paused on a small scar right below the collarbone. A graze of a bullet was her best guess but she didn't ask. His skin was hot and smooth, and Bela smiled to herself when he caught his breath at her touch, delighted. Caught hers when he pulled her closer looking for her lips again.

There was something about the way he touched her – like she was fragile and precious; like it was never enough – that turned her stomach. The way he whispered the words that had no meaning – all that fear and pain she sensed between the lines – squeezed her heart for the reasons she didn't want to go into. And she was kissing him back, giving as well as taking, wishing to say the things that no words could say, clinging on to him like he was a lifeline. Letting him lead her to the point of no return.

_-- If tomorrow never comes _

_I want you to know right now that I_

_I'm gonna love you until the day I die_

_If tomorrow falls asleep, _

_Can you hold me first?_

_I'm gonna love you _

_Like it's the last night on earth…_

_(Delta Goodrem - "Last night on earth") --_

The storm was almost over. No more bursts of thunder, no flashes of lightning. The silence was disturbed only by hammering of heavy raindrops against the windows and rooftops, steady, monotonous and lulling, the way only rain could be.

Dean tugged her closer and Bela scooted against the warmth of his body tracing mindlessly small circles on his chest with her finger, her hand rising and falling in time with his breathing. She outlined the masked amulet – Sam's gift, she knew it; Dean's talisman – which remained unexpectedly cool, even in contact with his skin, and moved up. Traced the scar that she spotted earlier with her fingertip, slowly, cautiously, as if careless touch could make it hurt. Not a bullet. A stab, more like it. Thoughts rather cloudy, she wondered again how it happened, and then covered it with her palm as if her touch could heal.

"Dean?" Called him in a whisper grasping at the bits of her consciousness – still so not ready to fall asleep, lingering this moment of closeness.

"Mm?" His breath tickled the top of her head.

"Promise me that everything is going to be okay."

"What do you mean?" Casually, past tension.

All alert at once, he hoped he managed to cover it. Did his best not to strain himself knowing how sensitive she could be. Looked down at her rested against his chest wishing like hell for one little peek into that pretty head of hers. She couldn't know, could she? Feverishly tried to recall what he might or might not have said. But Bela wasn't looking at him – not a chance to read her face – staring instead at the rain streaming down the window in thin strings.

She shrugged. "Don't know. Everything."

Hell if she knew what she meant, Bela thought. His uneasiness bothered her. He was there and yet so far away, his mind miles from her apartment; from her. She was sleepy and pretty distracted at the moment, true, but not stupid. Could practically feel the clock ticking counting down the time before… _what_? Only he didn't seem to be keen on sharing. And she didn't know how to voice the questions she had; feared to hear the answers. Added her own unspoken anxiety… and here they were.

Bela found his hand and entwined their fingers, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

_Don't go, stay with me._

And Dean had a strong feeling that she was sick and tired of being a part somebody's game, too.

He sighed. Stroked her back absently. "I promise, Bela. Everything's going to be perfect." _Some day_.

He stayed awake for hours after she fell asleep, holding her in his arms, listening to the rain and to Bela's deep breath. And when she murmured his name in her sleep and cuddled surreptitiously even closer into his form, it turned something inside of him, made the whole world look different. Simple truth that had been spoken without a sound.

And maybe he was a coward for not bringing up the things he came to talk about; Dean was not going to deny it. But the truth was that it took him almost a year and a journey to hell and back to break through her shell, and now he didn't want to spook her into shutting up once again. Even thinking about it was unbearable. Thinking about her living in this personal hell of hers for years was even worse. Made Dean wish for a moment that he never knew about it. And then – that her knew from the start.

Not that her confession mattered anyway, he thought; now that he knew the truth at least. If they made it through, which was a matter of incredible luck, he could give her time, wait till she was ready to talk without pushing her to unpleasant conversation. If they didn't… well, that was out of question. And yes, he was even more coward for letting their relationship come this far, making choices was even more difficult now. It was hard when she was barely an acquaintance that got on his nerves. It became nearly impossible now that he… What was the point in keeping lying to himself?

The plan came to his head when Dean was halfway to Queens. Okay, just a hint for a plan, vague _something_ without details. But now he had it fully formed in his mind and he knew what he had to do. Being a step ahead was what mattered now, it meant that they still had a small chance to win.

He almost hated himself for having to leave Bela like this but he made a decision, for both of them. And okay, making decisions was a bitch. Generally! No, seriously, why wouldn't anyone just come out and tell him what was the right thing to do? Following orders was so damn easy! And what if he was wrong? What if it was exactly what they expected him to do? What if…

Dean looked down at her again memorizing soft features and gentle curve of her lips, the weight of her touch; just in case it was the last time.

He got up and dressed quietly. Bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead fighting a wish to fuck everything and stay. "I'm sorry," he whispered refusing to even start thinking about what she'd feel when she woke up in the morning alone. Wondered if she was going to hate him for the rest of her life, and left without looking back.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Reviews are always appreciated, now that you made it this far anyway :))


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's notes**: Counting down the days till January 15… And keep rewatching Season 3 :))

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* * *

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Chapter 9

Bela stretched herself lazily in half-daze, still not fully awake, and rolled over expecting to see… someone who obviously wasn't there.

"Dean?" His name echoed awkwardly in the empty room, and before the sound faded away Bela already knew that he wasn't anywhere in her apartment.

Small smile gone on the instant, she sat upright on a rush and gawked dumbly at the empty space for several extremely long moments. Then her hand groped around the other half of the bed as if he could have become invisible and gotten lost somewhere between the blankets. Okay, nothing was impossible, true. But not this time, apparently.

Soft cotton sheets were cold. Bela pressed her palm hard into them, her fingers squeezed thin material tightly, grasping for something that was long gone. Could still feel the taste of his kiss on her lips and the touch of his hands to her skin… Bloody hell!

The sound of her fridge working in the kitchen announced that the problems with electricity were no longer the reason for concern. Other than that – nothing. The silence was pressing, almost insufferable.

Something that never bothered her before was quickly becoming a problem.

Lonely… _Cheated?_ Oh, God!

"Lovely, Dean!" Bela fell backwards onto the pillow that still lingered his smell on a short humorless laugh. Ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "And what was that about?" She asked into the air staring at the snow-white ceiling. "Dropped in for a little one night stand? How very typical of you. Not that it was what I expected but… Why am I not at all surprised?" Paused. "And here I am talking to myself. Brilliant! First step towards madhouse or what?"

The mattress shifted and settled.

Bela turned her head and saw that her cat jumped up onto the bed and was making his way cautiously to her sniffing at the air, tail up and ears twitching, catching every sound.

"Hey there," she reached her arm out, smiling. First positive emotion in the last five minutes. Her cat thumped his head into her palm, purring. "Let's pretend I was talking to you, okay?" She scratched him between the ears. "Couldn't wake me up when he was leaving? What was it? Corporate male ethics?" But he only rubber his nose against the backside of her hand in reply.

Bela resisted a wish to bury herself deeper into the warmth of her blankets for several hours more, and got out of the bed on a groan. Knew that the best idea was to move on with her daily routine instead of allowing this pain and embarrassment consume her completely, bit by bit. Not now when the memories were still too fresh in her mind. She'd think of what to do about all this mess later, she decided; when her thoughts settled, not when recalling the things she was saying to Dean in the depth of the night could practically cause her go and drown herself in the sink, out of humiliation mostly.

Victim of Dean Winchester number… Oh, she didn't want to think about that.

It was unbearable to even start thinking that she was foolish enough to actually fall… And, okay, she didn't want to think about _that_ either!

Jesus, what _was_ she thinking? Okay, rhetorical question. She wished she could thump her face into the pillow and cover her head with another one for the rest of the week at least. Or till the end of the world, which made no difference to her. Both variants looked equally tempting.

"Could have at least left a goodbye note," she accused the image in her head.

Bela was out of the shower, which didn't help much with all these thoughts in her head about Dean Winchester probably having a list of the fools that fell for him some time or another and her name topping it at the moment, and halfway down the staircase when the realization struck her, terrible and yet so obvious that it nearly made her stumble and gasp for air, like a punch in the gut, or a stab in the back, depending.

She anything but rolled downstairs not quite caring about the risk to wring her neck, half-formed crazy thoughts rushing through her head accompanied by horrible images flashing before her mind's eye. Snatched her cell phone from the counter. Her fingers trembled when she was hurriedly flipping through the phonebook and Bela missed the dial button twice before actually pushing it once her eyes caught the name she was looking for.

"Come on, pick the bloody phone," she pleaded waiting for connection. "Come on, Dean!"

His phone was off though.

Cursing under her breath, Bela found another number. Her stomach was flip-flopping so violently that it made her feel sick and dizzy.

Oh, God, please let her be wrong just this time! Let it be only a twist of her imagination!

But Bela knew better than that. She knew she was right and she didn't need a confirmation. Hell, she didn't _want_ to hear the confirmation!

All this tenderness, all these words, everything… There was some _finality_ about them – oh, what a terrible word! – like he knew that it was their only night; like he wanted to say goodbye. Oh, and she called Sam _drama queen_! Gee, it seemed like a bad joke now. And she was foolish enough, terribly foolish, to miss it; blind enough not to see it, to let it slip So tired of looking for the second meaning in every word and gesture, wishing like hell for something to happen without a reason. What a tease!

His grave face at Bobby's; his thoughtfulness and reticence during their drive to Queens; pain in his eyes when he was looking at her, which he tried to mask behind cheeky smile and which Bela thought was related to something else – all pieces came together and made a clear picture. Even Sam's anxiety fitted. Whatever Dean was up to, he was too realistic to hope for good outcome. And yet stupid enough to try anyway.

Sam picked his phone up when she was about to hang up and start another round.

"_Bel_…"

"Where is Dean?"

"_What?_" Definitely with confusion.

Bela could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, had no problem with imagining him frown. Sam sounded sleepy. Did she wake him up? Damn it! The whole situation seemed insane.

"Where is Dean?" She repeated slowly – said each word loud enough to make them as clear as possible; pressed her hand to her breast in fruitless attempt to slow her heartbeat.

"_He went to you_," Sam started, and here his frown probably deepened.

Okay, wrong question. Wrong approach.

"What is the case you're working on?" She demanded. _Something suicidal?_

"_I don't understand, what does it have…?_"

"What is Dean up to?" Bela interrupted him. "Sam, please…" Bit her bottom lip so hard that she felt the taste of blood in her mouth. She was miserable, and she knew it. And she didn't care.

The pause was so long… as if it lasted forever. Or maybe the time stopped.

Bela swallowed hard, held her breath feeling like someone squeezed her lungs. Had to grasp at the edge of a cold marble counter when her knees were close to giving in. She waited, fighting back a wish to shout demanding for the answers, and yet incapable of making a sound.

She could hear some vague noises on the Sam's end of the call. Some rustles, maybe voices, but she wasn't sure. Thought at first that he was in the car and it was highway, but then it might as well be TV in his motel room, or a diner, or God knew what else. Bela wondered somewhat distractedly if Dean could leave Sam behind too, and had to admit that yes, he could, easily. She wouldn't put it past him. It was hard to put anything past Dean. Caring older brother who didn't want to involve the younger one into something dangerous. He made a deal after all, sold his own soul. Hell if he was asking for advice then. Hell if he was going to do it now.

"_Listen, Bela, it's nothing_," on the heaviest sigh ever.

"What?" She blinked, confused.

"_The case. Nothing special, usual stuff_."

"To hell with it!" She snapped. "Damn it, Sam! Where is Dean? I need to talk to him." Closer to pleading than she ever thought she could be.

"_I don't know!_" With frustration now. Bela heard him huff and had to admit that it was justified because, seriously, looking from aside their conversation was weird. "_I told you, he went to you._"

"And you don't know where he was going to go… _after_ me?" Damn, it sounded so… so…

"_No_."

"And he… he didn't call?"

"_No_." A pause. "_Did anything happen?_"

_Where to start?_

Well, at least she made him worry. Terrific! What now? "No, nothing. Nothing at all."

Bela closed her eyes on a sharp intake of breath that went in past burning pain in her chest and counted mentally to five before opening them again. Panic was rising within her in waves making straight thinking nearly impossible. And fury was somewhere there, too. At Dean. At herself. At Sam. At the whole bloody world.

"_Um, Bela…_" an impatient reminder that they still were talking. Sort of.

"Fine," she hissed. "Just in case your brother shows up, tell him that it was a cheap goodbye gesture." She cringed at how it sounded, and tried not think about how it happened. Sam must have blinked. Had to. She probably would in his place. "Honestly, I'm disappointed!" She took a breath. It was okay, anger was good. Much better than fear. "And one more thing – I find him alive, I'll kill him myself!"

***

Sam stared at the screen of his cell phone where the timer stopped at one minute fifteen seconds, and then turned to look at his brother.

"What part of _don't drag me into this_ you didn't understand, Dean?"

"Thanks, man," quietly, without raising his eyes up from the floor where he was studying… whatever one could be studying on the floor of a warehouse. God, he wished he had enough courage to pick up _his_ phone. Just to hear her voice.

"She's worried," Sam added somewhat mischievously. "Like, _really_ worried."

"You're not making it easier, Sammy, you know that?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to make your life easier, Dean," on a matter-of fact shrug. And then, curiously, "No, seriously, what happened between you two?"

"It's Bela, dude! What the hell could have happened between us?"

"Well, I don't know! First you forget about everything and rush to her, and then she calls and sounds like she's ready to jump into the fire after you… um, maybe right after throwing you there first—"

"I think I heard that part," Dean muttered.

"—Wanna hear my best guess?"

He decided to omit the part about Dean calling him in the middle of the night, which was something entirely unexpected, and then turning his phone off as soon as they rejoined because he… well, Sam could hardly say that his brother _feared_ to received a phone call from _someone_ but he definitely was uneasy about it. Edgy even.

And all he received for an explanation was an unnaturally exciting story about how wonderful it would be not to wait for the demons to show up. Oh, like anyone could ever believe that it was the result of his communication with Bela! Please! And whenever Sam mentioned her name Dean always had something else to say, or to discuss, or to politely advise his brother to shut up. Her name on the caller ID meant trouble. It was tempting to turn his phone off too, out of wish to stay away from the mess of a relationship between her and Dean, but then – Bobby could have called, and it was unnecessary to make him worry for no reason. If only this absolutely suicidal plan wasn't a good reason.

"Changed your mind about the details?" Dean sneered.

Sam cringed. "I'm not talking about the details. I'm talking about…" He rolled his eyes on an irritated huff. "Whatever! Forget it."

"That's what I'm trying to do," Dean sighed and made another lame attempt to block his mind to anything Bela-related because the more he was thinking… the more he wanted to know an answer to Sam's question. _Jump into the fire after you_. Hell, it wasn't working! He got to his feet, clapped his hands and looked at Sam. "Okay, job's waiting. Are you done there?"

"Yeah," Sam observed the results of his activities and nodded.

Abandoned warehouses outside New-York seemed like a perfect choice for what they were going to do. Old buildings, half-destroyed by time and people. It was hardly possible that someone would show up here out of curiosity or something else.

"But I'm still not sure that summoning Lilith for a small talk is a good idea," Sam added.

"And I don't think that it's a good idea to wait till she calls us for a tea party," Dean hemmed. It might work. He looked thoughtfully around. A small talk and maybe a cold-hearted murder in the end. Or in the beginning. Dean had nothing against skipping the talking part.

Devil traps were drawn all over the place and covered with cardboard and other junk. Not that he seriously hoped that it would be of much help. These sons of bitches were smarter than that. But sitting around and waiting for someone to come and hunt him down was even crazier.

Dean's look moved to the black candles lit up for the ritual and John's journal lying nearby. He didn't feel good about any of that either. It was like walking on thin ice, if only it was a good comparison in the situation when it was hell fire instead of cold water waiting for them in case if this so-called ice broke. And still he was determined not to give Lilith a chance to find them first.

"Okay, Sammy, your turn!" He beamed at his brother as if they were talking about going to the summer camp. It was nervousness though, not excitement; they both knew it. "Make this demon phone work. Let the show begin!"

***

Bela broke at least ten traffic rules over the first two miles of driving. And a couple of dozens more over the next twenty. Her silver car was nearly flying over the highway, her foot stepping deeper on the gas, eyes focused and fingers clutching steering wheel so hard that they probably were halfway to growing into the plastic.

The only way to find Dean was to track down his cell phone, which didn't work the way she expected since the aforementioned phone was turned off. She could have tried to track down his car as well, check on the records of the police cameras and everything, but it would have taken too much time. And the patience she didn't have.

Talking board was not the most reliable source of information and Bela knew it. Spirits could lie, and they did. A lot. But it was all she had. She was too nervous, couldn't concentrate well enough. Couldn't form a question in her head. Her fingers trembled on the planchette and it was perhaps the first time when Bela wasn't a hundred percent sure who was moving it around the flat surface – the other side or she. But she got an answer at last. The location. She resisted a curious wish to ask what the hell he might need in the abandoned industrial area some forty miles outside New-York. Knowing that it wasn't anything good was enough at the moment.

Bela wanted to call Sam and tell him what she found out. Well, she did actually only to hear a polite voice on the other end of the line informing her that the phone was probably switched off and advising to call later.

It caught Bela immediately, if a little belatedly. Made her wonder why Sam didn't sound genuinely worried when they talked. Uneasy – yes, and a bit irritated as always when he was talking to her, but not exactly _scared_ for his brother. Moreover, he didn't call her back right after their rather insane conversation, which surprised Bela assuming how much she knew about family bonds between the Winchesters. They might be mad and pissed off with each other like hell but still cared too much to just ignore even a hint for a danger. Besides, all this trouble to bring Dean back and be so cavalier about his well-being after that? It didn't look like Sam.

_I don't understand what you're talking about, Bela_, she mimicked him in her mind turning the key in the ignition and driving out of the underground parking, tires squealing on sharp turns.

Okay, maybe it was not so bad idea to ask the spirits about what the Winchesters were up to. Bela wasn't sure she wanted to stumble into some dirty party… Well, she didn't think they were partying exactly. Not really. But rushing into what could be a trap was not the smartest of all things considered either. Unfortunately, this bright thought occurred to her when she had already left twenty miles between herself and her apartment.

Bela cast a quick look at the gloves compartment where her gun was waiting for its turn to go into action and sighed. There were only a few things in her reality that could be killed so easily. Still, being armed like that was better than not being armed at all. Not the most consoling thought, she had to admit, but she didn't cared. Hell if she was going to let Dean do something stupid. Something _else_ stupid.

_Oh, God, please help me get there until it's too late. Please…_

***

Lilith had him pinned to the wall, guts twisting inside of him as if someone was ripping them apart from the very moment she showed up. Dean had no problems with imagining hundreds of little piranhas in every part of his body, which wasn't really helping matters. The pain was almost intolerable.

He clenched his teeth so tight that it almost hurt. Not as much as his entrails of course, but enough to keep him concentrated on something other than agonizing pain in his stomach.

She didn't come here alone. It would have been too good to be true if she did, Dean thought somewhat absently. One of the members of her cheerleaders' team knocked Sam out right away, and now he was lying at the wall, unconscious. Dean almost envied him wishing like hell to finally end his torture.

Little girl who least of all resembled the greatest evil in the world was standing right before him, watching Dean curiously, and maybe a tad appraisingly, with her big blue eyes. Oh, he hated it.

Lilith had a small walking tour around the warehouse – child's curiosity, Dean guessed. He knew it was just a body; that she wasn't a child, and this knowledge was making the whole picture look even more eerie and sinister. Bloody bitch missed all Devil traps! Must have had a radar for them or something. Made Dean want to groan with annoyance, if only the wish to moan with pain wasn't stronger. He wasn't going to give her this pleasure though.

"What do you want?" He muttered, each sound making his suffering even worse.

"You called me first, silly!" The girl laughed with delight, as if he really was fooling around for fun. Oh, sure, like he could have forgotten this little fact. "Now you tell me what _you_ want."

Okay, informative conversation was out of agenda. Dean seriously doubted that explaining all his reasons would be fruitful, too.

_I'd tell you, sweetheart, only you wouldn't like it!_

Ruby's magic knife was still tucked behind the waistband of Sam's jeans, which was thirty feet away from him. From _motionless _him to be exact. And Dean had a strong belief that his brother would be mounted to the wall like some freaking hunting trophy the next moment he came to his senses. So, logically speaking, the knife was out of the game. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but _that_ was not exactly an outcome Dean could foresee.

Should have called Bobby to join their little party after all. An ambush. Plan B. Could have worked better. Okay, could have _worked_, more like it.

So, he only snickered. Or tried to. At least his lips curved.

"Oh, look what I have!"

Dean missed the moment entirely – was that a bomb that exploded somewhere within him? – but when his eyes focused on Lilith once again, they nearly popped out of his head. He'd gladly let his jaw drop too, if it wasn't for pain.

She was holding the Colt in her hands. _The_ Colt. Their Colt. The one that Bela borrowed so boldly. The only weapon capable of killing the bitch almost within a reach of an arm, and she was twiddling it in her fingers like a toy, obviously teasing him.

Bloody hell!

Dean strained himself fighting to move, to ease the pain somehow. God, he had to do something! Wasn't planning on committing suicide, or giving up like that, or…

Why was he feeling like something was eating him from inside?!

Oh, if only he could get the Colt back. Just one little moment of relief would be enough. He needed a chance to think. There probably were demons all over the place. The woman that knocked Sam out stood leaning against the wall and watching the performance with genuine interest. Dean tried not to think about her. Or the others. It was Lilith he was interested in. Maybe it was a bad idea after all.

"What's your point, really?" He made an attempt to smirk, and cringed when it failed. Hoped she appreciated it anyway. "You've got enough damned souls down there. Why not leave the rest of us alone? Okay, I got it, you have an issue about my family. I'm flattered, believe me. But that's too much honor."

"You naughty boy," Lilith frowned and pouted as if she was talking to a puppy who stole her favorite dolly to play. "You escaped so soon."

"Sorry, baby, someone wanted me here too much." Jesus, each breath was like a sharp knife into his lungs. And what was the worst thing – it felt strangely familiar, on subconscious level. Like he had already experienced it before…

"I thought you called me because you wanted to go back."

Dean chocked. Could have sworn that it sounded like an accusation. Could she be serious?

"Maybe some other time," on half-smile half-wince, his fingers scraping against rough surface of the wall.

"Don't you want to go back and have fun again, Dean?" Lilith cocked her head. Her mood was changing so fast that he could barely keep up with it. "You're so mean! I thought you enjoyed it as much as I did!"

"Let's trade places, sweetheart, and we'll see how you're going to enjoy it," he muttered. "What do you want to leave us alone?" Louder, like offering a deal, or something. Oh, no, he didn't mean it. No more deals!

"Leave?" Her laugh was so out of place when Dean was grasping at the bits of his sanity. "You're so funny! I don't want _anything_, I want _you_ to go back with me. Ask your friend, _she_ must remember all the great time we had together."

And Lilith poked her little finger somewhere behind her back.

Dean shifted his gaze and… hadn't he been pinned to the wall already, read _left completely immobile_, he'd definitely freeze to the spot. Pain forgotten – as much as it was possible – within a moment; his heart fell. Eyes met Bela's, wide with panic and pure horror. He swallowed hard…

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**To be continued… **

Reviews and comments are always welcome! :))


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's notes:** So there, I managed to finish this one before Christmas! Honestly, I never expected this story to be so long. It was initially meant to be a one-shot, then I thought about 3-4 chaps, not more. And here I am again, with the 10th one wondering how it happened :))

This chap was a big challenge for me, I had serious problems with it. Especially with the ending; there were so many variants of how to end this story rolling in my head that I thought I'd go crazy. A couple of bad-endings even. Well, hope I made a good choice after all!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Bela spotted the Impala parked near the old building with small glassless windows as soon as she drove through the long broken gateway into the territory of a closed plant or something like that. On a sigh of relief she parked her car next to Dean's. Heart was still beating too fast, but at least she came to the right place.

She retrieved her gun from the gloves compartment and made her way into the warehouse listening carefully, trying to catch every sound but there was nothing. Nothing special at least. It was pretty dark inside, and she stopped in her tracks to let her eyes adjust to the twilight of the interiors of… wherever she got. And right when she got used to it… she saw him, and… Oh, crap! Lilith.

The picture rendered her speechless, immobile, terrified, buried with animal fear and panic. Bela cocked her gun automatically, soft _click_ sounded as loud as a shot. Instinctive gesture. In the back of her mind she knew that no weapon could help her now. Well, maybe with the exception of the one that little demon was holding in her hands. And if seeing Lilith didn't paralyze her, not exactly, seeing the Colt definitely did.

"Hello, Abby!" Lilith turned and beamed at Bela; and rolled her eyes when Bela's face pulled. "Oh, I know that you don't like this name _here_." And on a smile again. "But I do."

Dean caught his breath. How the hell did she get here?! Like the situation hadn't been complicated enough already! Still very bad at logical and straight thinking – at any thinking actually – he muttered, "Get… out."

Oh, sure, trust Bela to get an advice and ignore it!

She didn't move. Of course. Um, did she hear him at all?

And right when Dean started thinking that the things couldn't get any worse – because, seriously, he was on the wall; Sam was unconscious; Bela was there all alone against God knows how many demons and Lilith had some plans on each of them in her little head, so cute! – when Sam moaned quietly, his arm moved. So, geek boy forgot to stay frozen.

He was up in the air and on the opposite from Dean's wall on the instant. Dean suspected that it happened before Sam even realized where he was and what was going on. Teeth clenched in order to try and fight back the pain, he opened his eyes slowly, observed the interior of the warehouse and fixed his look on Lilith. He anything but gasped at the sight of Bela – Dean nearly scoffed – but the pain was obviously too severe to concentrate on such insignificant nuances.

"Oh, hi, Sammy!" Lilith's greeting made him cringe. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

_Sorry, I'm so not sharing your joy._ Sam gave her a poor imitation of a sneer.

Dean was halfway through saying mental goodbyes – just in case, practical as he was – when he suddenly realized that something changed. Pain eased somehow. Now that Lilith's back was to him, it was still hellish, but not as hellish as a minute ago. Trying not to think of how Sam must be feeling now, he made an attempt to move his hand, slow enough not to draw any unnecessary attention. Several seconds were all he needed, just to reach into the pocket of his jacket. Guns couldn't harm demons, true, only the bodies they possessed, so they never bother to disarm their victims, but the weapon could be loud and distractive sometimes, and it was exactly what he, Sam and Bela needed at the moment.

Sam caught Dean's small movement out of the corner of his eye and peered at Lilith even more intensely lest she decided to turn back and check on her other toy. Fought to find the words to keep her occupied with easy friendly chat but she spoke first.

"Now that we're all together here…"

Listening to her wasn't that necessary though.

_Got it!_

Dean's hand closed around cold steel and he pulled the gun out as cautiously as possible. He was almost sorry – past the wish to get rid of the little monster forever – for ruining her party.

"Your daddy is so disappointed with you, Abby!" Little girl announced reproachfully looking back to Bela again. "It was so rude to sneak out like that!" She put her hands on her hips. "He is not going to leave it like that, you know that?" And then waved her hand on a small laugh. "Oh, but don't worry! We're still going to have a lot of fun after that! Do you remember how it was?"

Bela was barely breathing, Dean could see it even across these almost twenty feet between them, and it made the whole situation look different. He didn't want her to get hurt, one way or another, ever again.

_Son of a bitch! You stay away from her!_

The following evens happened so quickly that Dean failed to register them all.

Still unnoticed, he aimed at the ground near Lilith's feet and pulled the trigger. Deafening sound echoed under high ceiling. Lilith dropped the Colt, out of surprise mostly, and turned slowly to Dean, amazement on her girly face quickly transformed into pure fury. A small wave of a hand, and Dean was off the wall and flying into the corner before he could blink. He landed onto the pile of dusty wood boxes and strange rusty iron constructions. The pain in his whole body was gone for a split of a moment only to be replaced with the one caused by the fall.

"No!" That was Bela screaming.

Another shot followed, definitely not his this time, and it was the last thing that Dean heard through the ringing in his head before everything went black for him.

Bela's shot was more automatic than planned. She wasn't aiming and therefore she missed. It didn't matter though since it wouldn't have harmed Lilith anyway, but it made her curse mentally anyway.

The girl turned to look at her. The gaze of her light-blue cold eyes made Bela's blood freeze in her veins. And before she could think about one thing or another, she was on the wall, on the exactly same spot that Dean left not more than ten seconds ago, or somewhere very close. Bela guessed that shaggy surface might still be holding his warmth but she couldn't say for sure as burning pain in her entire body sort of switched off all of her other senses. She swallowed hard and tried to hold her breath for as long as she could; each intake was nearly driving her insane. Her nails scratched against the old painting convulsively.

"Your daddy will so not like it!" Lilith frowned, and her words sounded like a warning.

_Oh, tell me about that_. Had she not been suffering so much, Bela would laugh little bitch in the face. And then fear for Dean came, consuming her completely; she could have sworn that it even helped to block the pain out a little bit. He didn't move. She couldn't turn her head to look at where he landed but if he did, she'd notice it. Maybe. Or she'd probably hear it as he fell not onto the heap of pillows. Everything remained silent though, except maybe for her blood that seemed to be boiling within her. Literary.

"You shouldn't have left, Abby," Lilith told as if they reversed the places at once and now she was an adult, reprimanding Bela like a misbehaving child. "And you shouldn't have taken Dean away. You belong _there_. And you know it, right? Oh, we were all so angry when you left! And now you're going to go back. Both of you." She paused, and then her lips stretched into a genuinely happy smile. "No, _three_. Aw, that would be so great!" She cocked her head then, considering. "And if you try to leave again it would be bad, Abby. Really bad. Your friend will be punished for it," on a quick look at Dean's direction. "Not you. _Dean_."

Threatening Dean was her undoing though. Fear was replaced by anger within a blink of a moment, panic – by fury, burning her from inside, maybe even stronger than the pain. The hatred that was flooding her now couldn't be compared with anything that she had ever felt before. Pure wish to do whatever it could take to make this creature disappear in hellfire or elsewhere. Desire to eliminate every piece of Lilith.

Bela narrowed her eyes. "Go to…"

A sudden flash of bright light blinded her before she could finish the sentence, made her shut her eyes and wish to cover them with her hand too as it seemed to have no problem with going right through her eyelids.

It was gone as unexpectedly as it appeared, together with Lilith and presumably the demon. The woman whose body it had been possessing before was now lying unconscious on the floor. And the pain was gone, too. Bela fell off the wall and landed onto her knees, gulping the air, feeling weak and wholly drained, and then she snapped her head up when full realization of what had just happened kicked in.

Surprised, she gawked stupidly at the place where the girl was standing moments ago and then span around, expecting all the show to be another trap, but there was no one in the warehouse. No one but.... She leaped up to her feet and rushed to Dean. Noticed from the corner of her eye that Sam slid down the wall on a moan as well, and felt relived about the fact that he was okay. Two Winchesters in bad shape were more than she could handle, that she was sure of.

Bela fell to her knees near Dean, tossed aside a piece of wood from his chest.

"Dean?" Voice small and terribly high-pitched. Fear squeezed her chest and left her completely breathless allowing only shallow convulsive intakes.

She crawled closer to him, picked his head carefully and rested it in her lap. Brushed hair of his face and ran her hand along whatever she could reach searching for possible injures. Couldn't hold back a sigh of relief when it turned out that he was relatively unharmed, aside from the tennis-ball-sized bump on the back of his head, which was probably going to give him a hell of a headache later, and a thin string of blood on his temple. Thank God, just a scratch. But then Lilith was a demon. Who knew what she could do without even touching her victim?

Bela leaned closer, trailed her fingers down his cheek, terrified beyond herself, eyes burning and throat clogging. It was unbearable to see him like this, so… lifeless.

"Dean?" Barely in a whisper. "Come on, open your eyes. It's not funny! Wake up. I know you can do it." She sniffed. Well, okay, _sobbed_. "Please, you can't..." _leave me like this_. "I can't…" _lose you again_. Furiously, she threw aside her hair that kept on falling on her face. "Damn it, Dean! Stop it! Don't you dare be such a coward! I'm not done with you, you hear me? Don't you dare give up. Oh, God… Dean, please…"

She put her hand onto his chest longing to feel his heartbeat, proud and strong, under her palm. It was there, but rather weak and unsure. It couldn't end like this. Couldn't…

"Holy crap!" His sudden groan was so unexpected that Bela anything but jumped on the spot. "What the fuck is there under my back?"

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinked and focused his look on her face.

"Hey there," Bela touched his cheek having probably the silliest smile ever on her face. Had she been anyone else, she'd probably cry with happiness. And she was close. Very close.

His poor attempt of a smile past grimace of pain and obvious discomfort – because she had absolutely no idea what the hell could be there under his back – squeezed her heart. Made her bit her bottom lip to hold back strained laugh and, well, another sob, too.

"What happened?" He reached for his head and cursed under his breath. Snapped his eyes open when the whole nightmare came to him. "You okay?" Damn, she wished he didn't sound so genuinely concerned. Bela nodded quickly. "Sam--"

"We're fine," she repeated.

"Lilith--" Dean anything but jumped.

"Easy here," on a nervous smile. "She's gone," Bela said in a low voice not quite sure how she felt about it. On the one hand she seriously doubted that there was a way to kill the demon even with the Colt, otherwise she wouldn't carry it around so thoughtlessly, so having her away was good. Whereas on the other, the problem remained and they still were back to square one. This delayed-action bomb still could explode any moment.

"Damn…"

"Come on." Carefully, Bela helped him up to his feet, her arm wrapped supportively around his waist. She frowned when he cringed at her touch. "Okay, Rambo, what is it?"

Dean moved his right shoulder slowly and clenched his teeth. "Son of a bitch! It fucking hurts. Could be a dislocation."

Well, how else this day could have ended?

"It's okay," he assured her then in response to her concerned frown.

"You sure?"

He hesitated for a moment trying to decide if his broken self could be so optimistically called _okay_, and then nodded slowly hoping that it wouldn't knock him out. The headache was terrible, too. "Guess so."

"Great!"

And the next moment Bela let go of him and her fist met pretty soundly with his jaw nearly sending Dean back to the floor. Full strength blow, right from the heart if you please.

"Jesus, Bela!" Surprised, shocked. He didn't even feel pain at first, only amazement. Wincing, he touched his jaw carefully with his functional arm. She could have sworn that he added something else under his breath. "What the hell was that for?" Dean looked up at her, eyes big with pure misunderstanding.

"You're an idiot, Dean! Do you have any idea…" She started but anger rendered her speechless, made the words stuck in her throat. "Don't…" she warned him when he opened his mouth. "Just… just don't!" Before he said something that could possibly lead to the dislocation of another shoulder. Or something else painful.

She turned on her heels and stomped towards the exit, kicking the junk that was scattered all over the floor on her way. Paused near Sam who was checking on the pulse of a former demon and now a purely human woman.

"_I don't know where he is!_" Bela mimicked him; poor imitation of his voice ruined even more by her British accent.

"His idea!" Sam anything but jerked away from her, and hurriedly poked his finger at Dean.

But she only gave him a flaring look and rushed outside, lips pursed tight into a thin line and chin tipped high as if talking to them was beneath her dignity.

"Thanks, bro," Dean snorted making his way through the warehouse; cartoon starts still dancing before his eyes.

"Sorry, man," Sam got to his feet and gave Dean an appraising once-over from head to toe. "You okay?"

"What do you think?" Dean grimaced. Darted a quick look after Bela and complained, "She broke my jaw!"

"No, she didn't. You can speak, see."

"Dude, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"Between you and Bela? No way, Dean! I'm not taking any sides."

"Traitor," Dean hissed. Looked around and sighed. "Damn bitch slipped away. Again. Can't friggin' believe it!"

"Yeah, well, but she left something behind."

Sam handed him an object he found on the floor.

"Bloody hell," Dean breathed out with utter disbelief.

***

Sunset was beautiful. They always were, generally. Play of the shadows, change of the colors. Everything was special about it, even when one was surrounded by wreckage and distraction.

Beal leaned against the hood of her car and watched the sun descending slowly, turning from yellowish to orange to purple. It was mesmerizing. And the realization that she might have never seen it again made the moment even more precious.

She didn't hear how he came up but sensed it somehow – wondered rather absently if it was a permanent effect from now on, like a _Dean Winchester radar_ – and wasn't surprised when he showed up from behind. Didn't look at him when he rested against the hood of her car, too, barely half a foot away from her now.

"Sam found two more men between the containers over there," Dean told her and waved his hand quite indefinitely somewhere to the left. "Unconscious, but alive. Hadn't been possessed long enough to get seriously harmed. Strange memories would probably bother them for a while though. He's calling the ER."

Bela nodded pretty indifferently, and asked herself once again why she was still there. Should have left right away. And yet…

"We got this back," Dean added then rather casually; his words made Bela turn her head to see what _this_ was.

The Colt. She totally forgot about it. Didn't even think about the precious gun when everything happened.

"Bet, Lilith didn't plan to let it go," he anything but beamed like he won the damn thing in a severe and uneven battle, and gave her a warning look before putting the Colt onto the hood behind them.

Bela rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not touching this thing ever again."

She noticed that he was mainly using his left arm but swallowed her question about his right shoulder. Figured that if it really was dislocated, Sam helped to get it fixed.

And… silence.

Bela looked down at the gravel beneath her feet, thoughts mixed and jumpy in her head. She kicked the stone with the toe of her shoe and watched it roll into the grass.

"I'm sorry," Dean breathed out quietly, looking straight before him.

"For what?"

"For making you worried," he shrugged, not quite comfortable with the conversation; not sure what to say, or what to do. Chick-flick moment. Sort of. _You gotta be worried if you made it here somehow_.

"_Pissed off_, Dean," Bela snorted, annoyed. "Not _worried_. See the difference." She wanted to roll her eyes again but changed her mind. It would probably look too melodramatic. She was hurt, true, but not in a _let's talk and sort out relationship out_ kind of way. Didn't want to _talk_ about any of that. If what happened between them really was only a way to say goodbye, she didn't want to know about it. "Leave it, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he smirked, which sounded rather bitter to her, but then again – mixed signals. She could be wrong. "So," Dean cleared his throat after a while, paused, "you and me… it was nothing, then?"

A question or a statement? Hope or fear?

"Definitely," under her breath and looking down at her shoes. "Can't be anything." _Why?_

"Impossible," he nodded in agreement after a short pause.

"Too complicated." _Really?_

"Unnecessary."

"Better pretend that nothing happened."

"Absolutely." _Hell, no!_

"Right."

"Right."

So, that was it.

And it _was_ right, so very right. Like the most right thing to happen ever. For both of them. The best way to make everything simple and easy. She said what he wanted her to say and he heard what he wanted to hear – not _wanted_ exactly, but speaking of right things. He tried to be reasonable, noble even. So why the hell he was feeling that it was so wrong? Like he was losing something very big and important?

By this time only the very edge of the sun was visible over the horizon line, bright purple and pulsating, grasping at whatever it could reach with its rays like some natural incarnation of desperate hope.

"So, okay then," she started not quite knowing what exactly she was going to say – _See you around? Good luck? Have fun? _So pathetic!

"Yeah…" in a whoosh of breath, and then, "But it… it won't, you know, kill us if… if we try… right?" Quickly, like it could be too late or like he could change his mind, or like whatever courage he needed to say this line could disappear any moment, and yet faltering all the time as if his tongue refused to move in his mouth.

Bela caught her breath. Good thing that she was leaning against her car, otherwise she'd probably shamelessly fall right there and then. Slowly, she turned to him, looked him fully in the face, not quite sure that she heard what she thought she heard, and let a small smile touch her lips when their eyes met. It was hope then. Desperate hope in the flesh.

"Of course," she bit her bottom lip to stop her smile from growing too wide, doing her best to ignore the flopping of her stomach and the noise in her ears, trying to sound calm and all business; like it was nothing at all. "We can give it a chance." Casually, past happiness, lest it be too obvious, and yet...

"Try to find a way--"

"-- to compromise." A pause. "And if it doesn't work--"

"We can always turn back."

"Any time."

"Sure."

Dean found her hand, covered it with his, and entwined their fingers when she opened her palm eagerly. Surreptitiously, Bela inched closer to him, their shoulders almost touching now, and looked down at their hands, then ahead of her again.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" He looked at her curiously. "Did you… you know, with Lilith… did you do it? I mean she was just gone, so… suddenly, and all."

"I don't want to even start thinking about it," Bela cringed. And okay, she didn't want to know an answer to that question because there always was a chance for it to be positive, and it definitely wasn't something that she'd like to deal with.

"What? I told you – this stuff's friggin' cool!" He sounded enthusiastic. Bela only snorted in response. "If it is any consolation," he paused, gave her a long appraising once-over, "you're the hottest psychic freak I've ever seen."

"Shut up, Dean," on a soft laugh and trying to kick him wherever she could reach.

"Whatever. How did you find us anyway?"

Still smiling, she thumped her forehead into his shoulder. "Oh, God. You're such a dolt, you know that?"

"Aw, come on, Bela! I'm curious."

"By the breadcrumbs you left behind," she giggled.

Dean let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, desperate to feel the warmth of her body. Bela turned her head, let him find her lips, and then buried her face into his chest. And that was when sudden sense of alarm struck her, something that slipped her mind at first, and Bela anything but shivered at the memory, because… because he heard it, right? He couldn't not to hear.

"Dean? What Lilith said…"

He knew instantly what she was talking about. And he also knew that the timing was bad. Like _really_ bad. And yet it was something that he couldn't turn back and change. No way to make _this_ easy. "It's okay, I know," he whispered into her hair as his lips pressed to the top of her head.

"You do?" She didn't look up, surprised and confused. Other than that, a small convulsive intake of breath was the only reaction.

"Don't think about it, okay?" Dean said quietly. _We'll make it up somehow, later_. She nodded eagerly, grateful.

"And what now?"

"Well, I don't think it was the end… but I hope that out little friend stops being so persistent, especially now that I have the Colt… and you." And meaningful pause followed. Bela huffed. "You have a good right-hander," he commented then, almost with admiration and definitely with respect.

"And you have an iron jaw," she looked at her knuckles. It was a miracle that she didn't break her wrist. Being a negotiator, not a fighter, she probably missed a moment or two in dealing with some… species.

His short laugh broke the stillness, she felt that he finally let go off the tension. "Next time you're… _pissed off_, just tell me about it, okay?"

"You scare me like this once again, Winchester, and I swear to God a couple of broken bones will be the least of your problems," Bela warned him in the most serious voice she could muster.

"Well, that's a good start," Dean snickered. "I'm flattered actually." And then added, "I still don't approve of your business, you know," like they were laying down the rules or something.

"Your job makes me sick." She stated, so that no one was left behind. Well, not _sick_ exactly, to tell the truth. She just thought that it was a useless waste of time. Add _unpaid_ to that maybe. But hell, she could play with him here.

"I'm not going to help you."

"Mmm. And I'm not going to help you either."

The paused and looked at each other.

"Sounds like fun, huh?" Dean chuckled, shook his head. "A mercenary bitch--"

"--and a serial killer."

"Bela? Shut up."

**The end!**

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**Now, reviews are _always _love! :))**

**PS Author's notes:** I'd like thank everyone for your support. It means a lot!

Special thanks to _The Rasmus, Within Temptation_ and _Poets of the Fall_, my never-ending source of inspiration. Don't laugh, I'm serious :))

**_Happy holidays! You all have a lot of fun and be happy!_**


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